


I have not told my garden yet

by teorema



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And More Slow Burn, Anxiety, Because Has To, Bonding, Comedy, Comfort, Curses, Depression, Dialogue Heavy, Draco Malfoy Does Muggle Stuff, Dragons, Fishing, Fluff, Gems and Crystals, Grief, Heavy Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magical Theory, Mentions of Death, Metaphors, Muggle Studies, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Past suicidal attempts, Poems and Poetry, Potions, Sexual Content, Sickness, Slow Burn, Stargazing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Terminal Illnesses, World Travel, Yearning, all of them - Freeform, but the main characters dont die!!, finding yourself, long fic, movies - Freeform, self love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27429406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teorema/pseuds/teorema
Summary: It must be a work of destiny, or the constellations Draco studied aligning, that made him end up at Harry Potter’s door. After he traveled the world for answers, his final spot was there, asking for help with a curse. Draco doesn’t know why destiny made him share all his secrets with Harry Potter, or why it made him fall in love with him. Secrets are easier to tell if the one hearing it isn’t involved.orDraco ends up with a curse that obligates him to tell all his secrets to one of his enemies, or he will face fatal and irreparable consequences, and the only person that comes to mind is Harry Potter. And after searching around the world for answers, he finds one. The answer of love.“I have not told my garden yet,Lest that should conquer me;I have not quite the strength nowTo break it to the bee. (...)”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue: Not dark yet.

**Author's Note:**

> (WARNING: This chapter includes a suicide attempt, but theres no gore, also suicidal thoughts) 
> 
> Some thoughts there are that grow like ocean flowers,  
> Without the sun,  
> Deep down in sweetly dark and silent bowers,  
> Betrayed to none  
> Seek not to draw them forth to sympathy,  
> Oh kindly friend.  
> If once those petals were the light to see,  
> Their bloom would end.
> 
> (this is a journey, it takes its time exploring concepts, if you would like to take breaks in between that could be a good idea. the title is a song from bob dylan that fits with this chapter a lot, so listen to it)

— **_So long as I can keep a secret it is my prisoner. If I let it slip then I am its prisoner._ **

  
  


Draco Malfoy never thought, for even a split of a second he would be standing where he is right now. For someone who saw the edge of the world, the most beautiful seas and rivers, who rescued Dragons and studied them all, who saw the flames, the ice, for someone who traveled to all the weird places in the world looking for simple leaves and crystals, for someone who almost died more than twice, that’s the last place he saw himself ending up. There were times he thought he wouldn’t end up anywhere, Draco for some years thought his life would be nothing more than hiding and waiting for his life to wash away until he’s nothing more than small pieces mending with the ground.

When Draco saw life, it was a thing close to madness, when Draco left the place that held him under gunpoint, he saw more than his misery, and for that, he’s forever grateful. His mother made a sacrifice for him, to tell him to go anywhere, and she would stay there, making sure he has the capacity of surviving somewhere else. He started with France, he didn’t like Paris that much, it was beautiful, filled with lights and comfort, but as most say, it’s a romantic city, Draco has never been fond of romance, so as much as Paris was beautiful, Draco enjoyed the France countryside much more. Vienne was lovely, old architecture, he found himself walking for hours inside ruins, watching carefully how the past at one point became only a ruin, for some people to visit, and wonder. And Draco remembers being less afraid of the past because one day it will all be gone, all the things he saw, he felt, his body, his heart, his memories, all small ruins someday someone will walk over. Nothing but rooting and disappearing shards of something. 

Mâcon made him feel simple, something that he thought he would never feel, Draco has grown up in a place filled with everything he could wish for, in a place so big for three people to stay, surrounded by a glory, and then he had the loss of it, and Draco never had time to be simple, to enjoy the simplest things. But Mâcon was like that, small, he was never lost, he used to sit by the river and watch it for hours, as it ran down, unbothered. He will walk around a lot of small shops, watching carefully how people behave, how they looked at him like he was from another planet, and maybe he is, and that’s why he will never be simple, that’s why Mâcon wasn’t the place for him, he’s too big for that place. He’s too big for most places. 

The amazing churches in Bourg-en-Bresse bought him weird memories, and weird thoughts, it started with the way he realized muggles are so filled up with religion, and how magnificent they made it, how exquisite and rich it all looked. And that reminded Draco of home, his own exquisite and magnificent house, that once was a place of devotion, that once held all his biggest fears and regrets, five steps away from himself, and Draco still hears it lingering around, the voices of those who did the most barbaric things. And it was so weird to see that humans are humans after all, wizard or muggle kind, always looking for something to devote, to believe, to sacrifice. He didn’t like that city as much.

Manosque was one of Draco’s favorites, as much as it made him feel lost and small, it was a place in France he would go back to. He used to sit in the middle of lavender fields, immersed in the smell and the magnitude of that place, a long and beautiful landscape with the shades of lilac that once matched the beginning of the sunset, and he sat there alone, for days, thinking about how the world is supposed to be pretty, not wicked and black, not silent with whispers of evil voices. Silent with the whispers of the embracing wind, birds singing from afar, and the soft smell of lavender. And once again, sitting there at some point, Draco thought how it would be to be with someone, to smell lavender on their hair. So he left Manosque for real, with a small hope that someday he can come back, and the whispers of the wind would mix with soft lovely whispers of someone, someone who cares. He will miss the red poppies and the yellow sunflowers he stared at too, but at that time, the world was too black and white for him to process that much color. 

Cluny was much like Mâcon but incredibly smaller, and Draco never thought he would stand somewhere so small, yet so beautiful. He used to like studying architecture, and that’s probably his favorite muggle things, going to places where things are like they used to be in the past, he feels incredibly home. The park was green, and it shined under the slight sunlight, and then there were ruins, and once again, Draco thought about the past. How it will live someway, hidden, in a small village, filled with all the beauty his eyes were certain they would not see. There’s something about Draco, that aches, that lingers and punches, hopelessness, and he remembers how when he was a kid, he thought he was meant for the bigger things, that he was destined to gratefulness, and that was lost, forgotten, buried inside him, something that comes back only to pinch his insides, and at times, when he wandered around Cluny, he thought he didn’t deserve it, the beauty. Draco left there, with his head telling him he doesn’t belong there, or anywhere that isn’t the Manor, with all the misery and the curses and screams that hide behind big black walls. 

Colmar was a small pass by, because the feelings of not belonging got worse and worse as soon as he stepped there, beautiful aligned houses, with a river in between, roses and flowers on balconies, the smell of freshly baked bread, all things comfortable, all things clean, all things light, there’s the beauty he fought against, it was a constant reminder that he doesn’t belong anywhere good, and at times, Draco thought of throwing himself into the river there and seeing where it goes, let it take him somewhere, or take him nowhere, drowned, numb. He hesitated all those times, and for 2 days there, he considered it way too much. 

L'Isle Sur la Sorgue had a river too, a beautiful one, dark blue, and light green altogether, it had too many people, too many people that he would never understand, it had to many boats that worked in natural ways, in ways Draco found impractical, and he realized there’s no place where he’s not the odd one out. Blending in is not something he can do or was given a choice to, Draco had the bravado, Draco was made to stand out, and in his world, separated from this one with boats that work by a man’s hand, he stood out, for all the wrong reasons. And in that place, with all those people, watching the river, he has the power, yet, nothing to gain or lose. Just nothing, just someone that dresses kind of peculiarly. 

Draco always loved coldness, and at times he wonders if he likes for the sake of it or if he’s just used to the lack of warmth of any kind, if he loves it because it makes him feel better or if it brings him home in a way, because the coldness is familiar, and Draco never knew how to give away traditions. Chamonix was cold and snowy, and he was reminded he had a human body when his nose got almost frozen when his body shivered, when the place was so high he couldn’t breathe properly, and he didn’t hate it, the weakness of his body. There were times where he felt so invincible, that he forgot he was made of bones, flesh, and blood, and then there were moments when he felt so lost and empty he forgot he was even real. And in the middle of all that snow, all those infinite wards of whiteness, and the burning sensation on his cheeks, Draco knew he was alive. He stayed at Chamonix for weeks and he would stay outside, feeling the coldness as much as he could handle, just to feel something, something else, something that isn’t saying “You will never belong here” and that is rare. Draco felt like he belonged somewhere where his body suffered consequences.

There was a place between cold and warm, in a small village the sat a place, where you go for good fishing, and Draco realized that was a good activity, and he never thought he would enjoy something so, primitive, Draco could accio the fish, and not sit around that small pond for hours waiting for a small fish to fall in your trap. It was relaxing, and they say, that to catch a fish you must have silence and patience, and Draco didn’t have anything to say, anyone to talk, he sat there alone, always, and patience is not something he struggled with, he didn’t care about what time it was, what day, how long he stayed, Draco didn’t have somewhere to go back, someone to go back to. And he loved to stay fishing, there was no break for him to think about himself and his broken world, he stayed fixated in the waters and used his strength to bring the fish to earth. He never ate or killed them, he took a good look at how they looked, the fear in their eyes, that he once saw in himself, his mother, his father, and he did to them what he wanted someone to do for him, he set them free.

Fishing though taught him small things, like how work and time are worth, that small bits of euphoria are essential and that at times, to get the right answers, you might stay silent. And he fished in rivers too, those he didn’t even care if he could fish on, and he liked the rivers more, those small ponds made him thought about all those fishes stuck in a small place, and they will know every corner of that place, the only escapatory is to be caught and killed, and for a half of his life Draco was a fish swimming and surviving inside ponds, counting his days, stuck, in places bigger than him, but smaller than what the world could offer. And he knew, at times, that his only espapatory was to be caught and killed too, or to be locked inside a small aquarium, with nowhere to go, staring at a world that would never change, just get darker or lighter, with no way out. And when he was at the rivers, when he set those fishes free, to go back to a place so big, that could lead to new worlds, Draco realized that as much as he was lost, broken, and alone, Draco was free, his life wasn’t swimming around ponds with a destiny set beforehand, but a fish inside a river, he might be caught and killed someday, but he would be able to see the world, and the seas. He’s not Draco Malfoy or anyone in specific, he was another lost man haunting fishes with the determination of someone who needed them to eat, when he went fishing he had a purpose. And all those days around rivers and ponds, Draco knew had to have another purpose. 

He went to Italy, and other than Italian food, Italy was not as great to him also, and at that point, he felt a bigger urge to keep traveling, to find somewhere he likes. Italy had too many big cities for him, Rome was incredibly dumbfounding, the city is based on what used to be the crazy world, to a place of devotion, Rome had too many people with crosses, Draco hated every aspect of that, he said to himself, a few years back, that what he learned was wrong, that devoting to something isn’t an honor, but a weakness and a curse. So as much as it looked beautiful, Draco hated that place and all those people bowing to statues, devoting their lives to tales and believing that a piece of ceramic was able to save you in some way. Draco knows, and he’s sure of, that no one will save you, but yourself, and that was exactly what he was trying to do. Rome wasn’t the place to be founded, but to a place to bow. Draco left it sooner than he thought. 

Oh, Venice, it had churches too, crowded ones, a Basilica they say, Draco liked watching it from afar, while people pass by him, most of them stare at him for a while, confusing, disgusted, intrigued looks, Draco doesn’t know which one he found more infuriating. There were also bridges he spent time in, Draco liked bridges, it was concrete made to connect two sides, and Draco wanted to have a bridge in his life, to once connect with brand new places and views, a new way. The Bridge of Sighs was amazing and small, and Draco would stay there alone at night, while the water ran down, going places, and leading to the sea, and Draco would sometimes feel the urge to jump from that bridge on a sigh, a long one, and then let his body go to the ocean, to with it, become one. Ponte di Rialto was more filled with people and boats, similar to L'Isle Sur la Sorgue, but enormous, it was so crowded, and Draco didn’t get the chance to enjoy it alone. He watched the Canale Grande for hours too, it was so blue, so mesmerizing, and he even got into a boat, and that one didn’t have people to command, and it went slowly, and Draco looked at the water until he got nauseous, and then he looked up at the blue sky, the yellow buildings, all all those people he will never know the name, and will never learn his too, or understand the weight that name carries, its story and all the hereditary mistakes. And it was rather painful, from all those tourists there, he was the only one that sat alone, no lover, no family, just Draco and himself, and he thought if the Canale Grande had cool fishes to cleanse his mind, but he didn’t find much space to sit around and try on finding them. The art museum was amazing, though, and people don’t stare at someone peculiar there, because he wasn’t the only peculiar thing to look at. France had better art, though, even the paintings in Italy were very religious.

Before Draco left Italy, though, he stayed inside a hotel, for days, thinking about his path. It hit him in a very reckless and long wave, when he realized that leaving made him as lost as he was before he ever did, and Draco knew he had to try finding something, or somewhere to go, where he can find a thing to learn. And he spent all those days trying to find something he liked, he pulled a quill and piece parchment and sat in the same table for hours trying to list them. At that time he only wrote 4 things “Mom, Dragons, Potions, Fishing”, and he surely doesn’t want to be mommy’s boy or a fisherman, even though those things do make him feel happy. 

And then came Romania, where Draco first visited around, and Romania was different from the countries he has been before, it wasn’t filled with a burning and unreal glory, and Draco liked Romania more than he liked France or Italy. There wasn’t romance or religion but mountains, hills, and forests. It was quiet and reserved, and it was the place for Draco. Maybe Italy wasn’t that bad, because it brought Draco to Romania. Draco decided to start it all with a place he thought he would hate, The Tunnel of Love, and he found out it wasn’t much about things romantic when he got there, the only romance around was the mixture of two worlds. It was a tunnel, made completely by nature, trees with light green leaves bending over, with a train track in between and it was beautiful, seeing the creation of mankind mending with nature. Draco felt embraced by the green, like a mother’s hug, and he walked on the tracks for a while, not knowing where he was going, and he knew he was just going nowhere, and he did that, until his body got tired, and then he gave up. The Tunnel of Love taught Draco that you’re always surrounded by something other than yourself, and that to walk alone at times shouldn't be that big of a fear, sometimes it was needed, because he doesn’t want to make that path with someone else but him and the light green embrace. 

Draco went to a blue lagoon in Transylvania and it was so incredibly alluring and indeed blue, crystal clear, and preserved, Draco wanted to be just like it, hidden yet enthralling and concervated, for fellow enthusiasts, and for a moment he wished his eyes were more blue than grey. And then there was Ochiul Beiului, and Draco’s eyes took a while getting used to its beauty, the green trees surrounding a place so crystalline and blue reflecting in calm and steady waters, and for the first time, he didn’t felt an urge to drown, to run down, Draco wanted to bathe inside the serene and unchanging waters, and feel its purity cleansing slowly his dark insides, and maybe there was the first time Draco felt light in inside his eye, and he sat there and craved for that light to never fade away. But life isn’t that easy, after some hours, when the blue started hurting his eyes, that light faded, and Draco himself faded too, leaving behind his first contact with light. 

His eyes shined once more at the edge of the Danube Delta. His river loving increased even more, that was the second biggest delta in Europe, and right there, sitting on the top of a small hill, the preserved immense waters rolling under his eyes, Draco realized the world was much bigger than he used to be able to see, it was mysterious, with much more to offer, and that all those years running in circles, were wasted, washed away, buried inside his memory. One day he hopes to be as big and deep as the Danube. For lost men to sit around and gaze, craving his magnitude, his immensity, beauty, importance, and that gave Draco a purpose, a purpose to archive and break free from the world that once held him hostage. Draco had to be someone, anyone, not only another Malfoy, another pureblood, another man with wealth. Draco craved to be wise, and all by himself, pursue things, not because he had a name he carried, or a power he didn’t own. In the Danube, Draco found a place perfect to fish but he gave up on that thought as soon as he realized those fishes were living in a world too beautiful to carry the trauma of being caught. That day Draco added rivers to his list of things he liked and free fishes that dance underwater to his list. 

Draco almost wasn’t allowed to study Dragons, the only saving thing was that most people are easily persuaded with money, and Draco never struggled with money, it was always there, and he saw with his eyes, his privilege. There was a base, on the top of a huge mountain, separated from every single muggle community in Romania, and Draco realized that those places weren’t hard to find in that country. The Romanian Dragon sanctuary was the home of 6 types of Dragons. And Draco started with the one that belonged to that land, The Romanian Longhorn is huge, dark green scales that matched the shirt Draco was wearing that day, and then the long golden horns, and those reminded Draco of Rome, and the Basilicas, and it was a beautiful creature, one that was explained to be very exploited. It seems like all creatures with human intellect are very attracted to gold, in which Draco didn’t care much about, he prefered silver, and he never looked for prized possessions of that kind, Draco had a huge disinterest in gold or money. But he was fairly interested in the use of the horns in potions, and as much as it could be useful, those creatures were too glorious for him to harm. 

The yellow fireball reminded him instantly of Gryffindor, the scarlet red color of them, the golden specks of its spikes, the deep yellow of their eyes, filled with courage. It was also known as the Liondragon, which bought him a lot of memories from his school times, the lions sewed on fabrics, the flags falling from a fake sky, and also his pure hatred of those with courage, and bravery but unable to put thought into their choices, the recklessness extroversion, all things Draco never related to. The yellow fireball is named after the fireballs they shot out of their nostrils, and maybe that wasn't his favorite kind of Dragon. It reminds him of people with anger that melts out of them, people so dominated by their own rage, and for that, that’s not the Dragon that he was named after. 

Draco loved the Common Welsh Green, the emerald green of its scales, the white eyes, and the musical roar like they were the mermaids of Dragons. They were delightful and maternal, always protecting themselves or their eggs, reserved, almost seemed shy. Draco saw in them, someone who was on his list. Welsh Greens reminded him of his mother, Narcissa, with her reserved aura, with her burning silence, with the protection she gave while collected and calm. The musical roar reminded him of the best memories of his childhood, hearing his mom sing him songs, ones with tales, ones with love, others with a deep melancholy he didn’t understand at that time, that if he heard now he would feel the sorrow they carried. So, every time he missed his mother, Draco studied Welsh Greens, and the ones around him were kind of surprised by how they, in some kind of way, enjoyed Draco’s presence. 

The Hungarian Horntail, Draco remembered much more than the other ones, because he paid great attention to one, years ago, when his life was simpler and easier, and he remembered being not very scared by it, but it’s very different to be closer to one. They’re the most dangerous ones Draco has studied, black scales that at times had a rainbow effect, it’s eyes yellow, contrasting with the darkness of its body, with aggressiveness as their main trait, and their fires reached incredible proportions. Draco thought about how barbaric it was to once, put a child to fight one, facing those creatures was like facing death, and maybe in that year, when Draco was trying to get a single reaction or slight attention, Harry Potter faced death twice, and it all started with the Horntail. Draco didn’t like them, because they made him afraid, and made him think about someone once forgotten.

The Swedish Short-Snout, was silvery blue, just like Draco’s eyes, and its flames were also blue, just like the waters of all the rivers Draco spent hours watching, and then, its place of birth, the snowy mountains, reminded Draco of Chamonix. And when Draco first looked inside a Short-Snout’s eyes and gazed over its scales, Draco saw his reflection, looking back, collected and small, with a vulnerability he used to hide, it was clear as the Ochiul Beiului, when Draco first shined. And he found then, the Dragon his name Draco was taken from. Like those magnificent creatures, Draco is reluctant to harm his kind, or things living, the Short-Snout is calm, and it’s known for not attacking humans, haunting only for food. Just as Draco they were reserved, other Dragons were extremely loud, and that kind wasn't. They rather stay alone and hidden than being outstanding, Draco wondered if they ever felt alone, always seeking for places where no one could find them. Draco thought about how the whole world saw him like a Yellow Fire Ball, catching all the attention, with anger melting over, but when he saw himself in those scales, with a curious and pure gaze looking back, he knew he would rather stay in the shadows. And at that moment, Draco recalls, realizing he spent his whole life painting the wrong picture of himself. So back then, one of his new purposes was to rip that canvas into shards, grab new ink, new brushes, and paint his real self, to paint what he saw when his face reflected on the Short-Snout’s eyes. Quiet, shy and vulnerable Draco, with too many feelings to hold.

The Norwegian Ridgeback was quite similar to the Hungarian Horntail, but skinnier, and more brownish than black, and fairly less aggressive than the one he assembled. Still, his fangs are extremely venomous, and he wasn’t harmless, not even for a little, he just hidden its venom. And the Ridgeback reminded him of someone he would rather forget, but someone who he will never forget, though, Ridgebacks reminded him of Lucius Malfoy, with all its grace, disguising as something more dangerous than himself, pretending to be someone he isn’t, and then, hiding its venom. But Lucius Malfoy wasn’t a dragon, and Lucius Malfoy was caught, studied, and his disguise fell, along with Draco and his mother, and after all, they saw in him all that venom, and that venom was the reason Draco was cursed and poisoned. 

The last one was the Ukranian Ironbelly, he was metallic and silver, with deep red eyes, probably the one Draco found to be the most beautiful of them all, and he was slower, yet his speed shall not be seen as lack of power, its fires and size were outstanding. And that dragon was also marked in the history he was slightly into, the only difference is that Draco stood on the wrong side while it happened, side by side with the woman who kept one protecting her most prized possessions, and while she tormented his life, once again comes Harry Potter, riding one to steal it from her. And that was a constant reminder, that his pathing on history was wrong, that Draco should’ve watched all those things, and rooting for them. The Ukrainian Ironbelly made Draco feel a deep regret. 

There were times when the only thing he could smell was fire and smoke, there were times when he saw his whole life run past his eyes because of a small badly executed study. When he started putting his studies into actual action, Draco found that he’s very fond of gems and crystals, once during one of his Dragon rescuing adventures, Draco not only saw a half-awake volcano, those explosions gave Draco a small gem, called obsidian, it was black, the purest black Draco has ever seen, and it had a weird shine to it, and Draco keep it on his pocket. Back in Romania, he grabbed a book about gems and crystals, and at its introduction, he discovered how crystals carry energies and how they have their subtle magical powers, and Draco at the spot fell in love with them. 

He started reading with the one he had on his hand and thought about polishing them also because he discovered that was a thing. And maybe it was meant to be, finding Obsidian first, when Draco first read the introduction to the book, he expected such pitch-black crystal to be related to something darker. But as he realized it’s a crystal that holds an energy that protects, it’s like a protego spell, but more based on protecting by harmonizing, it repels the bad energies, and even though they’re black, they’re supposed to bring you light. And it was funny to Draco, to find exactly what he needed at that moment, something to show him light. So Draco carried that obsidian with him, always. He wrote on his list of likes “Gems and Crystals” after he finished that book. 

Being around Dragons made Draco even more careful than he used to be, Draco was never reckless, but his obedience and his will to pursue and stay on top made his life less calculated, Draco made a bunch of choices based on other people's choices and Draco made choices he cannot undo. Not only his past taught him to you should always think, not twice, but a bunch of times, but Dragons also did that, Draco knew that to handle such dangerous and magnificent creatures, everything had to be careful, calculated, and calm, and he had to think beforehand every possibility. It was kind of liberating to him, it was close to freedom, being able to calculate his actions, being able to see every perspective before acting, because, for most of his life, he did things because of what he learned, what he had to do, Draco lived and chose by default. And there, he didn’t, he could do anything, just the way he wanted, and put thought into it. The first time Draco saw himself being able to control his life was when that life was in danger, but not because he was put in a place where he didn’t have a choice, but because he was pursuing something better, and more important than himself. Rescuing Dragons is much more euphoric than catching a fish, and every time he did, his eyes shined. 

It was madness when Draco realized he had been haunting Dragons for almost two years, and that he was far from England for completed two years, and at that time, he had been almost everywhere, he got a big scar once, somewhere in the middle of Finland, caused by a scared and enraged Ukranian Ironbelly who was stolen, Draco didn’t work in the actual case, but it happened often, Dragons who are kept in hidden places to be sold as protection or to be exploited, and he cared for many harmed Dragons that spent years in chains. He got knocked over by the tail and one of the spikes opened a big wound on his left arm, and Draco was proud of that scar, because as much as it matched the others he had all over, that one was owned by doing the right thing. 

When the two-year mark hit on being in Romania, Draco signed off, and he got a diploma, if someone needs help with Dragons, Draco is qualified. And he knew that he finally had a place to go back, something to work on, but he grew tired of the small flames and the weird warmth around the sanctuary. It was winter when Draco left, and he went very far, Draco went to Sweden, and there, after seeing his favorite dragon in its natural habitat, Draco tattooed one on his back, curling around his backbones, specks of snow all around, and sometimes he would show his blue flames, and Draco loved seeing his own back on the mirror, roaring and burning. The Kosterhavet National Park was just beyond beautiful, a coastline, with flowers and nature, and then the sea. Draco felt like his home was the sea, and at times he would watch its landscape and wonder where it would end, and it even looked infinite, and then the blue of the sky would melt with the blue of the sea, a sea calm and collected.

Draco was much like the sea, deep, with so many things to discover, with so many secrets that would never come to the surface, and to know Draco completely you’ll have to swim, dive, deeper and deeper, until you drown inside, unable to breathe, so Draco knows that to be fully aware of his existence is impossible, for someone else to do, then if someone tries they wouldn’t handle getting to the bottom. Draco is the only one that knows what he hides deep down. And the sea is calm, influenced by the moon, but its waters are unpredictable, just like himself. Draco at times is the calm sea, and then at times it has turbulent waves, tall waves that eat the things around it. And Draco can also be a tsunami, leaving destruction, wrecking houses, and lives, reaching deadly proportions. So the sea is something on his list too. 

Ystad was a place that made Draco extremely intrigued, because there, by the seaside, the Ales Stenar or Ale’s stones stand. A stand ship, a particular way of burial, it’s stones, long stones forming the format of a ship or a boat, some people also say it was a cult place or even a solar calendar. And Draco found it extremely melancholic to stay around, but still he sat outside the structure, in the warm grass, and stared at it, imagining how many people, how many ashes were underneath himself, if there’s something preserved and hidden in there. It was like many things, a structure, for people to see, but inside, deep down, there’s always something that will be never found. And Draco wanted to be cremated, and maybe if someone handles it for him, Draco wants a stand ship for himself, right by the sea, and he would like to imagine a person visiting it at some point, and wondering what lays there. Draco doesn’t want a grave with his name, he doesn’t want people to give him flowers that don't matter anything, Draco wants his ashes to blow with the wind, and melt with the ground.

And it was kind of incredible he recalls, finding his favorite place in the world, and he recalls also getting in Kiruna by accident, and when he got there it was small and quiet, the daylight very bright as the white snow around it. Kiruna was as cold as Chamonix, and maybe even worse, and Draco liked that, the way the air was soft and light but felt like it was bruising his skin, a coldness that burns. And when the night arrived, and Draco was in the middle of nowhere, he saw, he saw all the things he was looking for. The sky, black, but filled with light, like you’re floating on the universe, all the stars and constellations, dots that shined, sparkled, and connected. Draco saw himself again that day, on the sky he recognized a pattern, a beautiful pattern in the form of a dragon, and then the Short-Snout was drawn in the sky shining and glimmering, and it was like facing himself twice. And Draco was out of his body as his soul was floating on air, dancing around the constellation that carries the same name as he does, watching others glimmering around himself, and Draco was made of crushed little stars. He realized then, that he’s never alone, constellations follow him around, and when the sun sets they’re waiting for him to float in between. And it was more magical than his wand, or his core, finding himself in the sky, for everyone to see was the most magical of things. 

Watching the stars, that night, when the coldness wasn’t enough to see, even more, Draco reminded his astrology classes. About almost all the stars we see being already dead, how those long stripes of stars altogether were nebulas, and nebulosus were Draco’s favorites. Nebulas were made of crushed little stars too, just like Draco’s body that laid over the snow that wetted his hair, nebulas were formed by the death of other stars, and it’s all gas, all of what it was supposed to be, but more beautiful, and Draco was like that. Even though, his beauty wasn’t found yet. He was only the residue of something, of people, a supercut of things, and surrounded by death, but Draco wanted to be beautiful, colorful, like nebulas. Draco knows he’s only dust, Draco knows that he was supposed to die at times, to be rebirth, and to be turned into small pieces, and as they get together again, as some are left behind, Draco will become more colorful, one day, Draco will be as beautiful as Orion, as big as it, as admired as it. And he’s still searching. 

Two days after Draco stared at the night sky filled with stars, he saw life and death at the same time. Draco saw the Aurora Borealis. And he remembers opening his mouth wide when a strike of moving green light with small purple spots appeared on the sky, moving around and shining, making the night appear lighter and at the same time, darker. And it reminded him of life, as it moved beautifully, filled with grace and hope, as his eyes shined like all those stars were inside of it, that was life, a beautiful, peculiar and rare thing, that comes and goes, that lights the night and disappears during the day. Death came because the light was the same color that haunted Draco, a strike of lightning, green lighting, leaving the tip of a long piece of wood, the death curse was the same as the Aurora Borealis, and Draco realized how everything is life and death. How sometimes a green light in the sky makes you feel alive and sometimes it’s the reason why you’re gone. Draco watched the Aurora Borealis and the starry sky for exactly 3 months, and every night there he discovered new constellations, and the Aurora moved differently, and Draco wanted to be alive. For one of the few times in his life, he wanted to be alive. There was something about thinking about nebulas, that told Draco in a whisper, even the most broken, even the ones made of dust, even the ones elder and disappearing, they’re all beautiful. Your life is a growing star in the sky, away from the ground, and as you grow older you shine brighter, and when you die, you are still going to be seen, by people, universes apart, and then become a part of something bigger and brighter, thin as air. Being broken is just a part of his beauty, Draco thought. 

He saw the Aurora Borealis in Finland too, and he loved it, even more, there were days when it created circles, lights curling over his head, there were days where the light was dark green, sometimes it was very light, lime, there were days when purple and green kissed and danced, and days where pink joined them, in a friendly dance, or a slight and steady mending, just there, without moving. And Draco got used to colors. He remembered hating them in France, hating how things were colorful, how his eyes could handle only one at the time. Draco thought about the lack of colors in his self-made palette. Draco was black and white, which made him have a grey color, similar to the one on his eyes, faded. He was the ash before a forest fire, a fire created for someone other than himself, and Draco burned, Draco drowned in flames for years, until there was just grey, only ash, only smoke. And he thought he would be like that forever and ever, Draco knew he spilled black paint all over the colorful painting of his life, and that the black paint is still marked on his skin as a reminder, and Draco didn’t know what to do with that stained painting, Draco thought it was incapable of fixing, that he was meant to be grey. In Romania when he knew he had to rip that painting and start it all over, he knew it would all be grey, faded, and right there under the prettiest of lights, and remembering all the blue, the sea, the lagoon, the lilac of the lavenders, the yellow of the sunrise and the sunflower, the scarlet red of scales, Draco realized, he had all those colors in mind, and he started painting himself. All over again. 

On Draco’s list, when he completed 2 years and a half outside of England, the words were “Mother, Dragons, Potions, Fishing, Gems and Crystals, Seas, Rivers, Nebulas, Constellations, Aurora Borealis,” So Draco made another list. Dragons weren't there, he spent years with them, getting to know them, saving them, giving them company. He chose gems and crystals right after, and Draco hunted them, his second crystal that he found was a Moon Stone. The moonstone was almost transparent, with specks of lilac, pink, and sometimes blue, and it was supposed to bring happiness, inner growth, and strength, and Draco loved her madly, it reminded him of himself in a way, and there was the reason she was the second one he hunted down. And that moonstone he thought could have the same effect the actual moon had on the sea, because he saw himself in the sea too, he wanted that stone to guide him. 

When Draco felt the worst about himself, when Draco realized he had no one to talk to, and all his years were filled with a silence that opened wounds on his skin, Draco went to Germany. And he found what he wanted, Amber, the stone was beautiful, dark yellow just like a dragon eye, and it was supposed to help with depression, to make your energy happier, and Draco liked it, it was so far from his core, still, it was the harmony he needed. Draco saw his eyes again, when he went to Russia, to places so hidden, to find himself an Aquamarine, it was light blue, almost grey at times, some were more blue than grey, others more grey than blue, and it was the stone to verbalize, and Draco wanted to talk. He carried the aquamarine in his pocket while traveling by train back to where he was staying, and he can say it worked, he exchanged small words with someone sitting close to him, they talked about the cold weather and where they were going, and that was a beautiful man. Draco would like to cross him again, somewhere. 

Aventurine was light green, like leaves that are surviving the winter, greyish but alive, and Draco would use them at some point, they were a crystal to bring good health, and Draco was fine physically. Draco went to Greece and he stared at the crystal clear sea that was quietly hitting the sand for hours and hours before finding the Azurite he went there to get, and it looked more like the Sweden seas than the ones in Greece, dark blue, shaped almost like a cloud, it was the stone of the truth, the one made to bring answers and Draco liked that. 

His first time in Spain he decided to look around, Madrid was way too technological, because he wandered around, not knowing anything, there were too many days that were filled with people with same shirts and painted faces, to watch some kind of boring sport, that they put a bunch of men to run around a field, trying to score points by kicking a ball, which is so impractical, Quidditch wasn’t Draco’s favorite thing, but the brooms, the flying, the adrenaline, they were amazing, and Football wasn’t his thing. Spain though had a crystal called Citrine, it was light yellow, at times it looked golden, sometimes it looked orange, and under deep sunlight even a little red, and it matched its core. The Citrine acted like the sun, it was to bring warmth, comfort, and life, and Draco always lacked all of those. Draco found a gorgeous emerald to his mother, green, beautiful, the stone of maturity, protection, and rebirth. He doesn’t know where Blaise is right now, they never talked after the war, still, Draco got him a gem called Onix, the crystal of knowledge and wisdom. 

When Draco had been in every single corner of the world looking for gems, when he had almost all of them, his quest for gems was over and it took him almost a year. And Draco completed 3 years and a half away from England, he decided to indulge in something else, he started with Stars and Nebulas, for months all he did was read about them, and observe, while he tried to unfold all the secrets of the universe, to look at a sky so big and black and find things he was looking for. Draco knows that the star that shines the brighter is called Sirius, and at the time he thought about Sirius Black and how Draco never saw him before, only in papers, only after his aunt killed him. He discovered that also one of the bigger ones he could see was Venus, the planet of love. And Draco also studied Astrology, and he was a Gemini, and he agreed with what those papers said about himself. He studied how all the planets have a certain spiritual connection to a part of you. It was interesting that he related more with the moonstone, and the moon is related to your feelings and moods. His mother was Venus, with all the love, all the harmony, protection, with all her beauty, and she was a Libra, which is ruled by Venus. His father was Saturn, with the structure, restriction, discipline, and all the ambition, Draco didn’t like Saturn at all. 

While on his quest with the Universe, Draco had the bold decision to give the Dragon on his back company. Draco started with a tattoo of moonstone on his wrist that switched colors, based on his mood, purple meaning anger, blue meaning sadness, pink meaning love and happiness, and transparent when his head was calm. After he knew about almost all of them, Draco decided to tattoo the constellations, and it was convenient that he had a lot of things to cover with them. His torso was filled with thin white scars, he got on his 6th year, and Draco used them as the base for most of the constellations. He started with the Draco one, on his chest, when his heart is, and he covered a big scar he had there. The Scorpius constellation came right after on the other side of his chest because he liked that one a lot. He got the Gemini one too right in the middle of his chest, and then the Libra one for his mom on his ribs. The Hydra covered his whole side, coming from the waist to the rib and then almost to his armpit. The Orion one was next to his v-line on his left side. And when he finished all his studies on stars, his whole torso was filled with constellations, that shined and aligned just like the sky on particular days. 

After the stars were inked on his skin forever, Draco went to the sea, and he discovered that muggles are destroying it, and he felt an anger lingering inside him, how could someone destroy and pollute something so beautiful he asked himself. So Draco started using his wand more frequently, he went to every beach at night, to collect all the trash he found on the shallowest parts of the sea, and those buried on the sand, and since winter wasn’t crowded they used to stay clean for a long time. And Draco traveled along the seaside of Europe, collecting all those things people throw away, and a good part of them he didn’t understand, all those disposable and weird shaped things. He vanished them all, transfigured them. He found interesting stones and beautiful seashells that he kept to himself, he liked one in specific, almost as big as his hand, and sometimes before sleeping he would place it on his ear and listen to the sea because they produce that effect. 

One day on the beach alone, during the night, with slight stars on the sky and a sea so beautiful and quite rebellious, Draco cried. He doesn’t know for how long he held those tears inside, he didn’t have a particular reason that made him cry, his eyes just got filled with tears, and they ran down like the rivers in France, it came in waves, first, it was just rolling down, like the sea that wets the sand slowly and quietly, then it got thicker, like small waves breaking on the shore, and it got thicker and thicker, and the sounds of his cries mended with the sounds of the sea until it came so hard that Draco felt like his eyes were filled with tsunamis. He shook, and cried, and screamed and his scream came back around with an echo. Draco cried because he never got the chance to. Before he went away he was never alone, he was never available, when he started, he was grey and apathetic, his sadness fossilized inside his body, a lingering agony that grew but never melted out. And Dragons and Gems were constant actions, looking at the sky was a moment of reflection, but there, sitting on a beach at night, only Draco, himself, and the sea it was different.

Draco cried because he was regretful. After all, all the things he believed were lies he was forced to accept, all his knowledge was caged inside him, he cried because he had no other choice. Draco cried because of his mother and her pain, and because he left her, and because she begged him to leave. Draco cried because he was alone in a big world, in a huge sea. After all, everything he saw couldn’t be shared, Draco cried loneliness, and no one could hear him, no one was around to hear him whisper, whimper, scream, no one was going to wash his tears away. Draco cried because he was empty, because inside his heart were just Nebulas and nothing was alive, nothing mattered, nothing existed, only dust and gas. Draco cried more then, when he realized that seemed like all he was going to be. And Draco only got the chance to cry because he knew all the colors, and because no one other than himself saw his palette or his new painting, and no one would believe him. 

Draco remembers the sand sticking to his shoes, he remembers taking them out at some point, and his bare feet sinking into wet sand, almost like they told him to stop. And Draco remembers clearly when the water first hit his feet, a soft and cold touch, washing away the sand over them. And he remembers just going and going, until water has made all his clothes wet, and it was very close to his neck, his whole body frozen while water embraced every corner of it, and Draco remembers the pain, how his heart clenched and after a few steps Draco had his whole body under water, it was all dark, dark and more dark, only over his head the small glimpse of light coming from the moon. And Draco closed his eyes, and held his breath, and when he gasped, the salty water was inside his mouth and inside his nose, and then, there was no air. When Draco opened his eyes, divided between leaving his body still until his breath is completely gone or fighting for his life, Draco saw the moon, blurred by dark waters and it was like seeing the light in the end of the tunnel. Draco fought for his life, and was able to swim up again. When his lungs were filled with air again, Draco decided to swim, with the heavy wet clothes making him less agile. And the water embraced his body until he found himself by the shore again. And Draco cried even more. Because he didn’t have the courage to die, because death was even an option, and because as much as he thought he wanted, he didn’t want to die.

That day when tears dried because they’ve rolled for way too long, Draco wrote something. He transfigured a shell into a small notebook, with leather covers, and two random stones close to it on ink and a quill. 

_“In the deep sea the madness hides_

_Oh, so quiet and dark, with glimpses of light from the moon_

_And to the moon, a lost man cried_

_Set me free next afternoon_

_Oh, to be courageous enough to die_

_To have the power and will to drown_

_But after dead, I won’t live in the sky_

_All we do in the end, is breakdown_

_To melt with the sea and have water corrupting me_

_I need the bravery and the courage I have not found_

_And for now I have a distant love with the sea_

_Maybe someday I will be gone and drowned.”_

Draco used some drying charms, silent, as always, but for the first time he had an uncomfortable silence with himself. After he got away from the sea, he wrote to his mother, for the first time. After three years isn’t the best time to finally write for her, and that sparkled a small shame inside him, maybe his mother thinks he already did what she was trying to prevent, maybe she knew he was alive because of the money he was using. He doesn’t know.

“ _Mother,_

_I’m still trying to find myself, I’ve been almost everywhere by now. France was lovely, I think you would like it, much more than I did. I don’t know about Italy, I think you wouldn’t have great memories being there too. Romania was amazing, and beautiful, I studied Dragons, all kinds, and I saved them and cared for their wounds. I really like the name you choose me, Mother, Dragons are beautiful and the Draco constellation is even more, thank you for thinking I deserved a name so beautiful. I hope you like this emerald, I got it just for you._

_I love you, Mother._

_With love, Your Son, Draco._ ”

Draco didn’t know at that time if his mother ever saw it or tried to answer, because as soon as he sent it, he left that city. And Draco decided to go to a place over the seas, Draco visited the United States, for the first time, and he started with New York. Draco hated New York with a burning passion, he hated the technology, how muggles seem entitled, how wizards have weird slangs, how the streets were extremely crowded, that trains were shady places, Draco liked only the way no one seemed to find him peculiar. He went to the countryside, and didn’t find much he liked either, maybe it was because the weather is different there, maybe because people behave very differently. At some places, Draco thought that he understood more when people spoke Russian than he understood the American accent, and it changed drastically from place to place.

There was one place though that Draco liked, that was the Grand Canyon. Not in the daylight, because it was extremely hot, and Draco hated how his body got sticky, and his hair glued to his forehead. During the night the weather was nice, not too hot and not too cold, and the sky was beautiful, so incredibly beautiful, and standing at the top of that place, looking down to find darkness and looking up to find a straight landscape, over everything and everyone, with the skies clear filled with stars, Draco felt like he was standing at the edge of the world. The Canyon gave him hope again, being so high, staring at the beauty said that even in the places when he hated the most, there’s always somewhere hidden, somewhere when you feel like you’re okay. And Draco felt okay. 

“ _Being on the top was not madness_

_Being on the top was fitting in, it was sanity_

_I like the top of hills more, and it’s effortless_

_In my heart, the only thing I feel is infinity,”_

Draco left America thinking about how the world is big again, and how he wanted to find all the secret places and the not so secrets ones too, that he had somewhere to go, even though he had to walk there alone. Draco thanked the moon, for bringing him back to earth. And he was glad, so glad, his life didn’t end in a beach, that his body wasn’t found cold and swallowed on some random shore, that he was not sent back to his mother lifeless. Draco wanted to be alive, as much as life hurted. Life was like the scar he got saving a dragon once, a pain he earned by fighting, a pain he earned for trying, trying to do the right thing. And life also leaves scars, but Draco can always turn them into constellations anyways.

Draco didn’t completely find himself when he went to Japan, but he learned that he loved Cherry Blossoms a lot, and that maybe pink was the color his eyes found the most pleasant. Red was too bold for him, red was the color of blood and roses, red reminded him of a recklessness he would never possess. White reminded him of peace and quiet, harmony, but it carried light, it carried things Draco wasn’t used to, that he didn’t have. But the mixture of those two formed pink, the pink of the Cherry Blossoms around him, pink was the mixture of recklessness and quiet, and pink was definitely Draco’s color. And pink was the color of self love, and someday Draco will love himself as much as he loves pink, and as much as he loves cherry blossoms 

Japan at that time of the year rained a lot, and some days it was just slight pours, calm and collected, even reluctant and shy Draco would say, and that kind of rain reminded him of London, because London was always pouring, like the sky was crying quietly. The storms were more like Draco himself, the winds carried the leaves, and banged on the windows, while the rain hitted the glass heavily, creating a noise that helped Draco sleep. Then it was lightning and thunder, loud bangs, sparks of beautiful light on the sky like magic leaving the tip of a wand. And rain meant a lot to Draco, he realized, stuck in a small place he chose to stay as the Japan sky cried for hours and days straight. Draco was very sensitive to smells, he hated those who were too sweet or too bitter, he remembered the smell of places and people, and one day walking around France he remembers passing by someone that smelled like Pansy, the same perfume. And rain was one of his favorite smells, it wasn't sweet, bitter or savery, it was earthy and mild, it was fresh and comfortable, and Draco used to open his window when the rain took a small break, and smell it, after it washed all the streets. Rain cleans. And Draco doesn’t like unclean things. 

And rain sometimes acted just like Draco himself, the small pour of rain, calm and neutralized, was like most of his good days. At times when rain gets heavier Draco thinks about the not so good days, when he cries, and Draco never admits to anyone, not even to himself, that he cried a lot, and his cries were heavy, sometimes lasting for a few scary minutes or long scary hours. When Draco was angry, he started reluctant like the bangs in the sky before a thunderstorm, and when Draco exploded the lightning illuminated the sky and its winds and its showers carried leaves on the air too, aggressively without a slight bit of thought. The worst of them all was that Draco related way too much with hurricanes, so destructive, so terrifying, and as much as Draco always acted like the drizzle, his insides spinned around, creating waves and more waves of pure and heartless destruction. It was messy, mad and violent. Draco had a hurricane heart. Because all the broken houses, and the shards and pieces after all those unbearable hurricanes stayed inside him, and he had to assemble them together, alone. 

“ _The days when the drizzle is soft, you can hear my voice_

_The days when the pour is heavy, you can hear me cry_

_The days when the thunder lights the sky, I have no choice_

_The days when the hurricanes arrive, you can watch me die.”_

But rain also was something hopeful, the skies will cry and melt into the ground, the thunder will scare and be as loud as the sound of death, and the winds will take things away or bring others to the surface. Rain brings pain, and rain can be destruction, but as much as the pieces are there to pick. Rain ends. The crying goes away, and then it’s just the tender smell of it, and cleaned streets. 

Draco fought Dragons, Draco fought a war, and Draco fought hurricanes. Both inside and out. And it was a rainy day in Japan, when a letter arrived, and Draco didn’t know how his family owl found him, maybe he just knows where all the Malfoy’s hide. It’s wings were wet, but the letter was preserved, and Draco recognized the handwriting quickly, and he wasn’t that surprised. He sat down to open, in a bed unmade, because by the time it arrived, the morning was just beginning, and for his mother, probably, the midnight was getting there. 

“ _Draco,_

_I don’t know if I’ll be able to find you, and I hope it’s not too late. I hope you're doing well my dear son, and that your days shine as much as the stars you learned to love, as you told me once. I wanted to tell you that your Mother is fine, and in some ways, I am. But with age comes sickness, and you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I just wanted to inform you. I don’t know if it’s my time to get going, if it’s getting close or not, and you being the one I love the most, I thought I would want to know. Mother misses you every day, but she knows you’re better wherever you are._

_I love you, Draco._

_Mother”_

And that night when Draco packed all his bags and arranged all his stones, and put all his books inside his baggage, Draco cried, while the sky cried with him, because it seemed like when he ended the letter, the rain got heavier and heavier. That day, Draco did something he wasn’t ready to do, even 5 years after he left, when he knew he was going back to England his heart dropped to his feet. But he did, because Narcissa Malfoy was the only thing he had, other than a bunch of stones, a bunch of books and a certificate for Dragons. And because Narcissa Malfoy sacrificed everything for him, always, Draco would spare and sacrifice his freedom for her too. Only for her.

It was also raining when he arrived, but it was different, because seeing the rain fall from the Japanese sky was just a reminder that England was his home, and seeing the rain fall from the London sky didn't make him feel homesick, seeing the rain fall from the sky made him feel trapped in a place where all his pain stayed. 

“ _Seeing rain was like coming back home_

_But only with my spirit and my soul_

_And when I got home, all I wanted was to be gone_

_Away from the rain, away from my role_

_But for me the world doesn’t give much choices_

_And to the familiar rain I came back_

_Sooner or later to hear familiar voices_

_And once again, my sky was only, pitch black”_

It was almost instant, when his feet touched the ground of the Manor, right outside when you can see the gardens and the magnitude of the places he never belonged in, his body that was once straight and strong, sunk. But Draco didn’t hesitate to get inside, his mother needed him. Draco remembers the elf leading him to her room, and Draco remembers looking down to his feet, to not watch the walls that have blood dripping from them, to not hear those screams locked inside them. 

Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful woman, probably the prettiest woman Draco has ever seen, but that was a little biased, he didn’t pay attention to women in general. But laying there, with a tired face, it seemed like her beauty was accidentally brushed away, she was still beautiful, extremely beautiful, but it was faded and hidden. She got older and Draco grew too, but without many changes other than a hair a little longer that ended on his shoulders, that he put behind his ear leaving two strikes of blonde hair on the sides of his face. Narcissa’s hair was more white than black, and her face no longer held a strong and steady face, she looked tired and vulnerable.

Draco sat by the bed and held her hand, and he cried with his forehead pressed against the small and now more wrinkled hands. Narcissa said that he didn’t have to cry, but her eyes were filled with tears too. And Draco told her about France, lavender fields, rivers, about fishing and the cold mountains. He told her about the Basilicas, the Tunnel of Love, the lagoon and the delta, and then he told about the dragons, and explained why one of them was just like her. He told her about the gem and realized she wore the emerald he got her on her neck, and he fighted his tears, forcefully. Then he explained constellations and his favorite nebula, and her sign and Venus, and that she was the planet of love. He rambled about the sea and held back the part when he almost drowned, and Narcissa smiled, asked for more details, and he told her everything, because her smile was more precious than all the diamonds he had seen. 

Draco started studying potions again the next day after getting into the Manor, he would just sit around his mother and read the books while she slept. He also surrounded her room with healing and health crystals. He started performing all kinds of spels and potions, he spent days creating a very good Calming Draught to himself to get him to sleep inside the Manor, and to make him calm where he had to walk around looking for something. A Draught of Peace also came around while he was working because his anxiety messed with his concentration to a point that he almost exploded the whole Manor, and it's something he wants to do someday, transform that place into ruins. 

Draco started making healing potions for his mom, and even though it took 2 hours to make, Draco wanted ones that were stronger, so he spent days discovering how to double the effect in one single potion. And he came up with one, after about two weeks of failed attempts and research, and his mom seemed less tired after taking it. The effect was good, but her sickness wasn’t that simple, so she would get better for some weeks, and then she would be in pain again. Draco made her a numbing potion when it got too bad, so she wouldn’t feel it. It would be much better if Draco was a healer in fact, but she refused to go to St. Mungus, so Draco did his best.

It was unexpected and inconvenient, when the thing happened. Breeding potions is extremely easy, if you study it and have patience, trying to collect safe ingredients is the hardest part. Because Narcissa would get better and then bad again, Draco had to perform a bunch of healing potions and numbing potions for her, and the Malfoy Manor was rather unlisted for places to get ingredients arrived. Dittany’s, Draco had at the Manor, he planted them himself. Wormwood was difficult to find, and it was a rainy afternoon when Draco arrived into a small wizard village north of England. He ordered beforehand and went there to get them. 

Draco got cornered, right after getting out of the store, and they were tall and they called him a “death eater” and said their families died because of him, and he could not deny it. Draco wanted to cry and he wanted to get killed, and he didn’t fight back while all those wands were pointed to him. And Draco closed his eyes, and thought how it would feel to die. Hostibus Occultis he heard, and there was pain, but he wasn't harmed or dead, Draco was cursed. His legs got weak and he fell to the ground and they left him there. And Draco thought he would die in a few hours maybe, get sick, but he didn’t. He appareted back to the Manor and searched the whole library for that specific spell. 

“ _Hostibus Occultis curse, once attacked with that curse, the wizard has to tell one of his enemies all their secrets. Or else, fatal and irreparable consequences will be faced._

_One who doesn’t open his heart to the most hated shall lose its light and fade away.”_

That night Draco cried while he breeded potions to his mom, she realized his eyes were swallowed and red, it was on her face, but she didn’t ask, just took the potion and told him she loved him. And that night after his mother slept, Draco created his new list, a list of enemies. Lucius Malfoy came to mind, but he loved his father still and Lucius Malfoy died on Askaban. Voldemort was his enemy too, even though he fought by his side, but he was dead too. All his classmates were there, but he drew lines over their names because they weren’t relevant as an enemy, Draco just hated them for the sake of it. Three people stayed there, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter. And Draco thought about all of them.

Weasley isn’t an enemy he had by choice, but by default, he hated him and his family, but only because his father did it too. And Weasley hated him for that too, so he wasn’t much of an enemy, just someone he learned to hate. Granger was not his enemy, because the only reason he hated her so much because of his own prejudices, and Draco doesn’t think it’s much of an enemy if it’s one-sided. That leaves Harry Potter, someone he grew up hearing about, someone he wanted to be, someone who rejected him straight away, someone who he hated because Harry hated him first. And he tried to beat Harry in everything, catch his attention and someone he thought at that time had to pay for not liking him too. They were rivals, house rivals, and then, side rivals. Draco and Harry were always connected even being on different sides, Draco thought. And they saved each other, and Harry owns Draco as much as Draco owns Harry, and that's their chance to pay each other back. Draco wrote him a letter, he had his ways of finding him, because Andromeda and his mother were getting close again. 

“ _Harry Potter,_

_I come by this letter with an offering, our relationship was never the most polite, and we don’t like each other. Still, we own each other, I suppose, I cannot know what you think about it, though. But I need your help with Muggle Studies to help my mother who once helped you, so do it for her, not for me. I will give you everything you want back for your help._

_I hope to get a reply for you, and to order an encounter._

_Sincerely, Draco Malfoy.”_

It was simple, not much added, but not too vague. Draco didn’t wait for a return from Harry, actually he arranged everything on paper for his own funeral, because Harry Potter is a hero, but Draco is not worth fighting for. And weeks passed and Draco asked himself how it is going to be, to lose his light, and if that light was to die. 

There's only one thing that is fatal and irreparable, and it’s death, something he seeked and wasn’t courageous enough to do. And then how is death? Is it quiet? Do you go in peace and numb? Does it hurt? Is it like thunder or is it like dazzle? Draco didn’t know. And he couldn’t ask anyone because that’s the biggest mystery of life, how you die and how it is to die, and the only thing that isn’t mysterious is that you will, everyone dies at some point. Draco just might go sooner, and he was almost getting ready to go, almost telling himself he saw enough of the world and that he would die knowing all the places, carrying the memory of dragons and crystals. Draco stood at the edge of the world, he saw the Aurora Borealis, and he saw the Draco constellation, and he has constellations all over his body. Draco will die clean and pretty, like he always wanted to.

And he got closer to accepting death and started to feel a slight pain inside his chest when he got a letter. An ugly and lazy handwriting. It didn’t even started with his name, it was just a paper, with a few words. 

“ _I’m free lately and I suppose you already know where I live because your letter was sent to the right address. Just don’t come in the morning, I like sleeping until noon,”_

This is everything Harry Potter said, and Draco was surprised by how he made it sound so like a normal meetup. And Draco didn’t want to go, because at that moment death seemed more fitting, like he was made to die at that age. That destiny made him travel and see all those things, to make it easier, easier for him to go with less frustration. But his chest hurted too much, and he wasn’t able to perform potions to keep his mom alive quickly and accurately. So Thursday, Draco sent a letter saying he would go tomorrow at 3pm. And Harry’s letter that said “Ok” arrived that same night. On a Friday, Draco woke up, gave his mother the potions and made sure the elves made her food healthy, he gave her a moon stone enchanted for her to squeeze if she needs help or is feeling too bad. And Draco left the Manor. And apparated to Harry Potter’s front door, with his heart palpitating heavy inside his chest and his mouth dry, and he knocked when his clock said it was 3 PM. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. You’re familiar, like my mirror, years ago.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I remember, I remember,  
> The fir trees dark and high;  
> I used to think their slender tops  
> Were close against the sky:  
> It was a childish ignorance,  
> But now ’tis little joy  
> To know I’m farther off from heav’n  
> Than when I was a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i didn’t have the brains to revise it... so ignore the typos because it must have those.
> 
> also this one seems underwhelming close to the last and first one, but this is light, it will be lighter for a long time. 
> 
> i’m not sure if i like it completely, yet, i cannot bring myself to change it. i rewrote this twice already, and this is the best one of the two.
> 
> i accept criticism on the way its written, also. so if you have anything to say, or ask, leave a comment.
> 
> sorry for the typos or if its underwhelming, brain malfunctioning.

Life comes full circle. We all run in circles, circles and more circles, it seems. Draco Malfoy, once thought his life was closeted inside one circle, the circle of the expectation that laid over his small shoulders, that lingered around him and then, consumed him, like the sea eating outwards of sand. Draco Malfoy was a creation, a supercut, made to follow one purpose, since the moment he took his first breath, expectations were already there, while he stayed, unaware. And while on the other side, someone got expectations too, Draco lived his life to its fullest. Children, the small ones, are incredibly pure, aren’t they? Unaware of the world colliding, unaware of how it is to fit inside something, something bigger than himself.

Babies only need two things, food and sleep, and other than that, attention. And Draco got his attention, his mother, always warm and kind, always soft and sweet, like the best summer afternoon, not too warm it will burn but not cold enough to do the same. Lucius, back then, was someone Draco didn’t see anymore, it was like the pictures were switched, and Draco remembers when it did. 

Draco was aware of his expectations a little bit before going to Hogwarts he recalls, when he met another pureblood family, for a simple dinner it seemed. It wasn’t though, because that night Draco found out he was an heir. 10-year-olds don’t need much either, so for him, it was a blessing, to be so wanted, to have such responsibilities, to follow the guidance of his father. 

He earned more than a name and a fortune, Draco earned a type of behaviour, and Draco earned a type of prejudice. And he never questioned. Draco Malfoy was a creation, and everything about him was hereditary. The behaviour seemed to not work outside of his house, both the Manor and Slytherin, Draco was rejected by those he thought to be the most important. 

It’s funny to recall that the thing Draco hated more about his father was that he was mean. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t a flower, especially to those who he didn’t like. When Draco was a child, he failed to understand why his father was mean towards some people and failed to understand why he was so strict. A child doesn’t need much. But a child is constantly learning, so Draco, as controversial as it sounds, learned from his father how life should be. 

On top of his pedestal, Draco Malfoy felt the rejection of those who didn’t care about his name. And Draco, the one who always got everything he wanted, ended up, exactly, like Lucius. People failed to understand why he was mean too. 

It was a tragic comedy the day Draco fell off his pedestal. The day Lucius Malfoy fell off his pedestal. Draco remembers the first threat, he remembers the way he felt like his world was colliding. Funny thing it is to live a life on the top and end up at rock bottom. Draco took a different path from almost everyone, especially the one he’s about to see.

If young Draco Malfoy, still standing on his pedestal, ever heard someone tell him he would end up at Harry Potter’s door asking for help he would have laughed. It was a joke, wasn't it? He and Harry Potter are looking at each other, even though Draco saw Harry Potter in places other than London. 

Harry Potter was a common name not only in history but also in Draco’s tales. Harry Potter was a common subject, not only to the world but to Draco himself. Harry Potter was a memory, a memory that will live with generations, but also a memory that will die alongside Draco. And Harry Potter is a thought inside everyone’s mind and a thought that used to come around inside Draco’s mind too, for a bunch of particular reasons. 

Draco saw small pieces of Harry Potter along his years not seeing him in particular, Harry Potter was inside dragons eyes, on their scales, on their history. Harry Potter was seen inside all of Draco’s deepest regrets, and now looking at his face, while he looks back, surprised and awkward, Draco faces their history once again. The first time he heard his name and heard his history, the first glance and the first rejection, and how much that rejection shaped him as a person, and it’s at times weird to remember himself the way he used to be and to think that Potter had a great role in that.

Draco always wondered if anything would’ve changed in his life or Potter’s if that man standing in front of him took his hand the first year. Maybe things would’ve been better, maybe worse, maybe Draco’s choices were different, maybe it would make him even more certain while making them. But once again, Draco wonders every day about all the things he has ever done, or that was done to him, and how it would be to live without them. 

He remembers it clearly, how that sign of rejection shaped him into someone revengeful, and Draco wants to laugh at his spoiled self, being so hurt by such a mundane thing. And he tried for years to switch the blame, throw it on Potter, Weasley, his father, anyone but himself. Now he’s old enough to know that even though his beliefs were something he was taught, his actions are his, and only his. Influence is there, but Draco is not only a victim. 

For years Draco was completely obsessed with making Potter’s life a living hell, and he was dumb to think that was something he was capable of doing, because looking at Potter, after the 6th year, he knew that man, that man was already living in hell, and that Draco only made it hotter and burn more. He regrets all of that because when hell came to him, his soul crushed into little pieces, and the sky over his head fell, stars colliding and exploding while they hit the ground, leaving only a big black sky behind. Everything Draco saw for years was darkness, the one inked on his pale arm, the dark of his suits, the darkness of the walls in his house, the darkness that laid inside eyes filled with cruelty and then, the dark consequences. That’s why looking at the night sky filled with stars meant so much to him when he did, because not once, he thought the dark sky could be filled with light. That Draco was glittering and shining above his occupied head. 

This is a new beginning because Draco knows now that stars are still there, not fallen. So when he looked at Potter, the shame knocked on his inside door, and stood on his doorstep, just Draco was doing right now. And that seemed like a new chance, that could bring him something, something else that wasn’t thin white scars on his torso, or fire and ruins.

Life comes full circle. And it’s weird to realize the way the world likes to make you run inside the same memories and subjects for a long time, Draco is now stuck in the circle of his own, and just like he began his adventures, he starts another one, completely clueless of what is to come. And now is not in a place completely new and unfamiliar, like all the places he found and felt surrounding him, Draco is in a new place. Yet, his eyes are familiar, the round classes and the messy hair, even more, a little longer, a little more curled, the designs never change, and the flannels don’t too. He seems less tired, not less lost it seems because in his face and his expression, lives a curiosity and a surprise, and Draco watches himself reflected on his glasses.

“Right on time,” Potter says then, and Draco reaches the surface again, instead of letting himself drown inside his thoughts and feelings. His voice hasn’t changed, maybe a little sore from just waking up, maybe a little softer because they’re old enough to be polite. And Draco was frightened by how nothing changed but at the same time, everything was different. 

“As always,” Draco says, then, sharpness on his tone, because he doesn’t know what tone to use, and Potter doesn’t seem surprised by his tone at all, and probably it would’ve been weirder if it wasn’t sharp. Some things never change, people still expect things from Draco. 

“Want to come in?” Potter says then, his tone is completely awkward, and he scratches the back of his head. His eyes are serene, even hidden under glasses, his nose is slightly blushed, his lips are pink and thin, curled with discomfort. Potter always seemed simple, with old flannels, used up shirts, and blue jeans, it was even weird to relate someone so common with the glory that surrounds him. If Draco didn’t know that man was marked forever in history as a saviour, he would think he’s another muggle, walking around clueless of the magic that surrounds them. 

Draco nods, and Potter gives him space between himself and the open door, and Draco takes it. Walking inside the house, that is so tiny for someone with that big of a reputation. Inside it is painted with neutral tones, the walls have pictures and posters, everything seems messy yet domestic. And he feels Potter’s gaze behind him, carefully watching while he looks around. 

“Don’t mind the mess,” Potter says closing the door behind him, and he walks towards Draco who looks over his shoulder to find Potter behind him, standing like he’s the guest in his own house. He expected it to be awkward, and he would rather it to be hostile than forced politeness, but they’re both grown adults, and Draco can’t say he still has the urge to be mean Potter, or anyone. He tries his best not to be who he used to be, “I forgot to clean,” 

“Typical of you, I suppose,” Draco says then, and he can’t help but not say things that cross his mind, he’s afraid they might become secrets. He thought Potter would be pissed, and tell him to leave. But he lets out a small noise, close to laughter.

“You supposed right,” He says, and Draco frowns. Things are indeed changed, and Draco wonders when they did, was it during the war, when Draco held Potter’s body and they flew over the fire, maybe the day Potter used Draco’s wand to defeat the Dark Lord, maybe it was only the years that washed out the thing they used to have, “I was going to ask you what brings you here, but I already know the answer. So, a cup of tea?” Draco only nods again, he’s a little rusty with talking, it’s been a while since he exchanged normal conversations. Maybe the last time he did, was on a train going somewhere new. 

Draco stands still while Potter passes him, going to what Draco thinks might be the kitchen, “You can sit on the couch if you please,” Potter says then, and it gets Draco startled. Of course, it’s even more awkward when Draco is standing looking at Potter, he’s indeed rusty. He nods and walks towards the couch while Potter disappears into the kitchen. 

Draco looks around, he sees some familiar faces moving around inside picture frames, there’s a familiar scent that is rather earthy, but nothing else in there is usually, other than Potter himself, that comes back very quickly holding two mugs. One of them has a weird print, filled with colourful dots and squares, and another is plain white. And Draco thinks it’s funny how he gets the plain white to him, and himself, he keeps the colourful one.

Potter sits down in an armchair, that is earth brown, and sips his tea. They stay silent for a while, and Draco realizes how both of them are trying to not look at each other, looking down to the mug, looking at their fingers, looking up, everywhere but themselves. Draco decides to drink his tea, and he regrets it. It's quite awful, almost tasteless and way too cold. He would rather keep some things to himself, but the rule is to tell Potter the truth and only the truth. 

“This is awful,” He says and it gets Potter by surprise, and Draco sees as red quickly comes to Potter’s face, and he wants to laugh because he has never seen him like that. Surprised and embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” He lets out then, and he laughs right after it, a laugh-filled with embarrassment and Draco stares at him carefully, as he adjusts his body on the armchair, and runs his fingers through his messy hair, “Tea making is not my speciality,” Draco agrees. 

“Since you’re going to teach me things, to start my payment, I can teach you how to make tea,” Draco says and Potter nods quickly, and Draco never thought he would see him act so passively, so normally. He always saw Potter as something more than another human, with normal feelings and reactions, and maybe his muggle studies are bringing him more than just regular knowledge, he will know more about Potter too, and that is frightening. 

“That would be pleasing, Hermione always complains about my tea,” Potter tells, quietly, and Draco nods again, if he knew beforehand that he would have to relearn how to talk to people again, he would’ve practised at home, “What exactly do you need to learn?” He asks and Draco’s mind goes blank because actually, he doesn’t need to learn anything, he just needs to tell Potter his secrets. 

“Everything,” Draco says because it’s the safest shot because if he was there to learn about Muggles he needs some serious help. Draco doesn’t know much about muggles, other than tales told by those with a deep hatred, other than the things he saw while travelling.

“Well, I have no clue where to start, so maybe teach me how to make tea first, and I can give it a little bit of thought,” Potter offers, and Draco takes it, nodding once again, and gets surprised when Potter gets up, he meant right now. Draco gets up before him leaving his mug behind. 

They go to a small kitchen, it’s cosy at best, the walls are also neutral tones, a dead plant is in there too, Draco swings his wand and makes it alive, and Potter only looks at him with one eyebrow up. He has a lilac fridge, and Draco would’ve hated it if it didn’t remind him of lavender fields. Potter leads him to his tea making spot, and everything is wrong.

“What is this monstrosity?” Draco says dumbfounded, pointing at a small paper package, with leaves inside and a long string connected to it. And Potter looks at him as dumbfounded as he is with that thing, and then looks around until his eyes hit what Draco was pointing at.

“A tea bag?” Potter says then, confused.

“That explains why your tea is so awful,” Draco says, and gets closer to the counter. He picks the tea bag with his hand and gives it a good look, “Potter, this is an offence to tea making, why would someone do something like this?” He asks rhetorically and Potter makes that noise again, the bastard finds it funny. 

“Because it’s practical,” Potter says and Draco looks at him, glaring and his lips are curled in a grin while Draco gives him a deathly look. Draco almost wants to laugh too, because there’s something about that face, that brings the soft sparkles of laughter to his throat. 

“Not all things practical are good, you have so much to learn, Harry Potter,” Draco says and it’s funny to him, teaching Harry Potter something, teaching Harry Potter how to make proper tea like they used to be friends, not enemies.

“But I am your teacher, you’re here to learn things from me,” Harry says back, and there the bickering begins, and it’s not like it used to be, like most things. Their bickering used to hold their differences, anger and some kind of deeper obsession. That was once forced and hurtful, but Draco doesn’t feel his hollow bones burning with that anger, it comes naturally, as things should be. And it’s odd. 

“Not right now Potter, inside this kitchen, I’m the master, and it seems like you need serious help,” Draco says then, faking a serious voice, and Potter is still grinning. Why is it so weird to Draco to see him like that? Will he get used to it at some point? Draco fears the closeness, Draco fears the good feelings, and Draco fears the change. Even though it’s already there, even if it already lives in the way they talk and interact like there aren't scars they gave each other. 

“Teach me then, Oh, tea supremo, share with me your ancient knowledge, my lord,” Potter says dramatically one hand over his heart, and Draco wants to laugh. But he only rolls his eyes and his grin gets larger. It’s once again weird how they act like their old friends, not old enemies, Draco is not sure if he likes it or not. 

Draco doesn’t take a long time to find the most perfect pot because Potter has one, untouched and brand new when Draco holds it into his hands, Potter says, “A gift from Hermione, she said I needed one,” And Draco looks at him quietly while placing it on the counter. Mentions of Granger sound weird, reminding of Granger is weird.

“She was right,” Draco says then very simply, while he opens it and calculates the measurements, and Draco fills the pot with water with a spell, “Precision is important, the amount of water and leaves, actual leaves,” Draco puts an emphasis, and Potter rolls his eyes playfully, “You’re lucky I carry tea leaves with me everywhere,” Draco says then and Potter raises his eyebrows.

“You do?” Potter asks confused, waiting for a punchline, but it doesn’t come because Draco puts a hand inside his pocket that is enchanted to fit a lot of things and takes a minute to find small packages with leaves inside when he takes one out of the pocket, Potter’s eyes widened looking at Draco’s hand, “You do,” He says then, his voice carrying pure shock. 

“Of course, what if I need tea and I don’t have it on me?” Draco says without understanding the shock, but maybe it’s because Potter had a home all those years and was not everywhere and anywhere, and Draco wonders how it was like to have a home of his own, a place to keep your tea and your crystals. Yet, Draco doesn’t know where he would live, he doesn’t know a place that feels like home, and he wonders if he will just keep running and running, “Tea is much like potion-making,” Draco explains and Potter scratches his head.

“Er,” He lets out, Draco turns his head to look at Potter, who has a forced smile on his face.

“You weren’t good at potions were you?” Draco asks and then Potter’s forceful smile gets larger which tells Draco the answer. Years ago, when Draco was young and hurt, that would be a moment of victory, being better than Harry Potter at something, and now he doesn’t care, and maybe that is what changed, they’re not competing anymore. Draco is not competing with anyone, he accepted that he’s the one who lost. 

“I can say it wasn’t my expertise,” Potter says then, and Draco grins at him, choosing the best leaves for the black tea he’s making, “Malfoy, where were you?” Potter asks, quite normally actually, maybe just not to keep silence between them, to kill curiosity. 

“Traveling,” Draco says then, it’s vague because if he explained all the places he has been to, it would take hours and more hours of talking. When he told everything to his mom it was simple, natural, and because he owned her explanations. But imagining him and Potter in a kitchen, with a lilac fridge, talking about his adventures is not something that will feel normal. 

“Oh,” Potter says while watching Draco put the leaves inside the pot with water, exactly 5 leaves and an almost full pot is Draco’s black tea recipe, “Why did you leave?” Potter asks, just to engage in a conversation, Draco is always quiet and Potter seems like the type of people who can’t stand silence. Or maybe, he’s trying to be nice, for a reason does not understand. 

And Draco realizes that his quest to tell secrets has to start more quickly than he thought, he planned it to be slow-paced, even though he’s not sure how much time he has left. Telling secrets might be the antidote of his early death, but it's still something he’s not used to doing. Keeping secrets is something that Draco always did, he kept his family’s secrets for almost all of his life, and he still does hold on to them, even after almost all came to surface, Draco carries the things he saw buried inside himself. And while growing up, Draco was forced to keep most of his thoughts and feelings a secret too, weakness was not something he could show, or learned how to show, contradicting things was also something Draco wasn’t able to, so much of himself is hidden inside secrets. He has a thread inside himself, where he hides who he is. 

“Because I tried to take my own life,” Draco lets out then, and those words have never left his mouth before. One of his biggest shames was his weak self, all the things inside him that were broken because of the hurricanes, and to Draco, based on what he learned, the times he tried to fade away were sins. Draco hears a small noise coming from Potter, but he’s too scared to face him, to see even more things inside his green eyes. 

Potter stays silent for a while, and Draco likes it like that, no further questions, but isn’t that contradictory? Because he came to Potter to answer all his questions, and then Potter lets out another noise. It comes through, the questions, “Really?” Harry asks first, his tone dumbfounded, surprised, and Draco understands why it might sound weird, or even as a dry joke because the Draco that Potter knew was too prideful and confident to take his own life. And maybe that’s not completely wrong, since Draco never dared to keep his decision. 

“Yes,” Draco says drily, and he wants to express something, some kind of feeling, yet his brain is incapable of forming anything. He’s too afraid of pity but also afraid of never having it, because maybe pity is the only thing people will ever feel towards him, and Draco wants some kind of sympathy, anything but anger or disgust. 

“How?” Potter asks then, in a breath, and as soon as he realized it stepped out, he lets out a surprised noise, “Sorry, you don’t have to,” And in a normal situation he doesn’t, it’s not a small talk subject, but when did life give Draco many choices. It’s tragic, so tragic that it’s kind of funny, how much of his choices were always based on dying or staying alive. 

“Poison,” Draco says, using his wand to boil the water, and he learned that he has to boil it like the water would boil in contact with fire, slowly, with patience, “Drowning,” Draco completes and Harry lets out just another noise, and it’s so uncomfortable, Draco is not very used to opening himself, especially, when he’s opening up to Harry Potter. 

“I’m sorry,” Potter says quietly and Draco frowns but tries to keep collected to not ruin the tea he’s making.

“You’re not,” He says then, increasing the heat on the pot. The smell of black tea is coming out of the closed tip already, and Draco inhales it, to keep his mind away from the situation, for a while.

“Malfoy, we have a past,” Potter starts, and Draco closes his eyes, focusing on the heating spell, think about the tea, the tea, Draco kept saying inside his mind, don’t think about this, “That doesn’t mean I want you to die,” Potter says then and Draco inhales the tea smell, and sighs.

“You wouldn’t care,” Draco lets out and now Potter sighs right beside him, and Draco keeps screaming inside his mind to pay attention to the tea, only the tea. 

“I would!” Potter sounds a little angrier than before, and maybe if Draco makes him more upset he’s going to throw fireballs out of his nose like Chinese Fireballs, “I know you! Even though we hated each other, it would be weird if you died,” He starts it stronger and it gets lower, his voice, his tone. Draco wants to understand where it comes from, what those words meant. So he keeps himself quiet, while the water boils until the point the smell is all over his senses and the tea is done.

“It’s done,” He verbalizes it, the topic switching back to tea, where it should have stayed, “This,” Draco pulls the small package up, “Is shrub leaves, to make black tea, you have to fill it almost to the top, then you put the leaves, 5 of them,” Draco says in a tone so forcefully normal that it almost seems like the uncomfortable subject wasn't there minutes ago, “Pick the best ones, always, I’ll leave this with you,” Draco finishes the explaining and Potter nods, “And because you’re my student, I take my tea with one big spoon of sugar, but never milk,” 

“I like it with milk and without sugar,” Potter says then, and Draco finally looks at him, he doesn’t find anything, in particular, Potter’s shoulders relaxed and his face, neutralized, green eyes calm under glasses.

“I guess we are always opposites, aren’t we?” Draco says and Potter does something Draco thought he would never see. He smiles, white teeth, very aligned, his eyes almost closing, but Draco sees inside those green eyes, something else. Almost like Harry’s eyes don’t want to join the party, carrying inside some kind of sadness Draco can’t explain. But he relates to it, he felt, after those years that his eyes got greyer and greyer, only bluish when he sees the sea, the stars and the rain. 

“We are,” Potter says then, and walks around the kitchen and grabs two new mugs, one says best godfather ever and the other one is pitch black, Draco holds his laugh while Harry fills the mug with “Best Godfather Ever” on it. 

“Best godfather ever,” Draco says then, his voice expressing all his wishes to laugh, and Potter looks at him, nose blushed.

“I can’t take credit or agree,” Potter says then, and grabs the milk and puts a little bit on his cup. Draco fills his too and adds his big spoon of sugar. Potter takes a sip before Draco does and he looks at Potter while his eyes get wider, “This is good,” Draco grins.

“I know, but also you’ve been drinking dirty water for so long that anything would impress you,” Draco says with his grin even wider, and Potter rolls his eyes. It’s incredibly comfortable the way he feels right there, making fun of Potter for something mundane, how his stomach feels light, and his shoulders, relaxed. 

“I think I have a plan for us today,” Potter says and then sips his tea, Draco does the same, nodding for him to go ahead, “And you’re going to hate it,” Potter says and smiles very brightly, and Draco complains quietly.

“What is it?” Draco asks, leaning on the counter beside him, Potter’s smile is still there, reminding him that he’s planing something that will annoy Draco deeply. 

“Fast food!” Potter says excitedly and Draco frowns.

“What is that? Your big plan is to make a quick meal?” Draco asks confused, and Potter lets out a small sinister laugh. 

“No, I’m going to show you the food version of my dirty water tea,” Potter says and his tone is happy and Draco hates it. 

“Please, don’t,” Draco says then and Harry laughs, a soft small laugh, that makes Draco intrigued. 

“Outside this kitchen, I’m your teacher, you can’t deny it,” Potter brags and Draco rolls his eyes while sighing.

“Let me finish my tea, I need preparation,” Draco sips his tea right after, carefully, and Potter still grins at him, “It will be that traumatic?” He asks and Potter smiles.

“You might need a mental healer appointment,” Potter says dramatically and Draco bites the inside of his cheek holding back a smile, “Let me explain to you why I know you will hate it so much,” He says and Draco frowns.

“Go ahead,” Draco says, sipping his black tea.

“First of all, you’re rich,” Potter says and Draco rolls his eyes. 

“Fair” He lets out.

“Second, I love it, and I’m sure you will hate all things I love,” 

“Not as fair, but taken,” 

“It’s the mugglest of foods ever, an offence to cosine and culinary, and my gut feeling is that you care about those,” Potter says and Draco stays silent, which makes Potter smile even larger, “I’m right,” He says then and Draco rolls his eyes. 

“Maybe,” Draco says and Potter keeps smiling until he pulls his mug and takes a sip again. There’s a silence, that Draco wanted to be uncomfortable, but it isn’t, there’s a thing surrounding them that should be bad but isn’t.

Draco stares at Potter, while he sips his tea. He never changed, did he? The same eyes, green, the same glasses, round, the same worn-out shirts. But everything else did, it seems, Potter doesn’t look how he used to look, not outside, because other than the longer hair, it’s all there still. But he’s not the saviour anymore, is he? Draco wants to ask, he wants to know what changed inside his eyes, what changed the way they used to talk, what made him smile and grin. Is it maturity? Politeness? Is it him pretending to be nice? Or is it forgiveness? Does he see inside Draco’s eyes that everything changed too? Draco hesitates to ask. 

When the tea is over, leaving only small black specks on the bottom, he places it over the counter, where Potter’s mug is too, “Ready?” He asks then, and Draco nods, “Side along?” Harry says, moving his arm. 

“You’re leaving like this?” Draco frowns, and Potter looks down at himself, and then looks back at Draco, with a weird face.

“Malfoy, we’re going to McDonalds not to a fine dining restaurant,” He says and Draco rolls his eyes, and he hesitates before locking his arm with Potter, and when he does, he feels a sudden tingling and a nervous feeling on his guts, but it doesn’t last long. Because then it’s a small nausea, and they arrived, at some kind of parking lot, that seems dirty and shady

“I’m already believing you,” Draco says then, and Potter lets out a small laugh, Draco looks at him instantly like he can’t control his actions, and Potter is looking back at him. All smiles. Odd thing. 

“Wait until you see the dead eyes of the employees,” Potter says, and Draco thinks “Just like ours” but stays silent, because Potter talks again, “And even better, the food,” 

They walk towards this small but wide building, the logo is obnoxious, and yellow. Potter was right, the girl that took their order, a young girl probably still a teenager, looked at them like she was begging for help, like she hated everyone and everything in the world, but her eyes were alive. The order names were also obnoxious and Draco hated every single one of them, he let Potter choose his destiny, by making the order for him. They sit at a table by the window, that place is utterly quiet.

“I decided to be good to you, and order the least bad one,” Potter says then, and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Thank you for your mercy, my lord,” He says.

“I loved the way this sounded, say it again,”

“Over my dead body, Potter, I was making fun of you,” 

“You don’t have to lie, Malfoy, we’re alone here you can admit it,” He sounds flirty, it seems, but Draco knows it’s only bickering. 

“Shut up, I had enough suffering today,”

“I don’t think you did, your Big Mac is on the way,” And it was like Potter predicted it, because a few minutes before it did arrive, and Potter went to get them.

When it arrived, Draco was very intrigued by everything, that small thing wrapped on paper, the red packaging containing a yellow and long type of fried food, a huge cup made of paper it seems, with the weird logo. Draco looked at Potter’s order and it looked even more intriguing because, there’s a weird toy with it, the wrapped thing was even smaller and he had an apple.

“I have many questions,” Draco starts, and Potter stares at him with a playful gaze, but once again he notices the eyes, and maybe it’s just an effect that the lenses do, Harry Potter is strong, he has been through a lot, it’s just not fitting, those sad eyes, “To begin with, what is that?” Draco points at the toy. 

“Buzz lightyear,” Potter says simply, but Draco is still staring at him with no clue of what that means, Potter realizes it, and then lets out one of those small noises again, “There’s this movie right,” He starts and Draco frowns, “You never watched a movie?” He asks.

“No?” Draco answers, and Potter must have an amazing knowledge of muggles, because he hasn’t heard about that concept before. Potter nods.

“I know what we’re doing later, then,” He says, while he unpacks the paper to reveal two buns, with some sloppy structure, some kind of meat in between, melted cheese and some vegetables, “So movies are like moving pictures, but a bunch of them together?” He tries to explain, and Draco still doesn’t get it, so he sighs, “Ok, Buzz is a character of this history about toys that are alive when their owner leaves, the name is Toy Story,” Draco is intrigued, looking at Potter while he gesticulates trying to make Draco get it, so Draco gives up on questions, unwrapping his own sandwich of some kind. It’s similar to Potter’s but bigger, still extremely sloppy. 

“This is depressing,” Draco lets out looking at his own food with disgust, and Potter lets out another noise, his mouth filled with a big bite Draco didn’t see him taking, “Do I have to eat it?” He asks then, and Potter swallows his food, his adam's apple moving. He has a very prominent adam's apple, it’s very masculine. Potter has a very masculine structure, his face is more squared, sharp edges, strong and dark eyebrows and his neck, as much as Draco hates admitting or even realizing, his neck is beautiful, tender skin and rough skin, and it’s different from Draco’s, Draco has a slim and long neck. Potter’s has way too much space. 

“Of course you do,” Potter says, and he smiles and he looks like a child who’s up to something, “This is research, eat for the sake of knowledge,” He says then, with a dramatic tone, and Draco rolls his eyes.

He uses the paper that used to be around to touch it, because he feels like he would hate the texture of holding it bare. He brings it up close to his mouth, the smell is good, but the looks tell Draco otherwise. He hesitates, looking at the thing in his hands, “Try it, it’s not that bad,” Potter says and Draco sighs, and he uses all his determination to take a bite. It tastes weird, not bad, not good, just extremely bland, the cheese is good though. It’s looks are not tasty, the smell is good, and the taste is right in between.

“As I expected, depressing,” Draco says then, underwhelmed by the taste of it, there’s a bunch of things he rather eat than to ever put that weird half warm, half cold sandwich inside his mouth again. Potter lets out a giggle, and bites his own again, big bites like he hasn’t eaten for years, and after a few minutes he finishes it

“I get what you’re saying because it is,” Harry says and then he gulps again, and Draco looks at his adam’s apple again, as it moves up and down, maybe the years without staring at rather attractive men is the reason why a neck is so desirable to him. He tries to not stare at it for too long, because he would be deeply embarrassed if Potter realized it, “But I love it! And I also like the toys,”

“Like a literal child would,” Draco teases, and Potter rolls his eyes and grabs his Buzz Lightyear, on his hands, the small male figure with a funny type of armor, that was too colorful to look frightening, it stood up in Potter's hand.

“Malfoy, don’t be a prick,” Potter says and then pulls his hand forward closer to Draco’s face, and he stares at the toy’s face, “Look at him, Malfoy, tell him to his face that he’s not cool,” Potter says then, and Draco moves his head to the side to look at the man child behind the toy and rolls his eyes. Then he looks at the toy, right inside its eyes.

“You’re not cool, Buzz Lightyear,” Draco says then, and Potter gasps loudly like it was a huge offence and Draco looks at him with his face screaming, “Really?” and Potter pulls Buzz Lightyear back to him. 

“Very mean of you, Malfoy,” Potter says, and Draco wants to laugh at the way Potter is pretending that saying a toy isn’t cool is that much of a big deal, “You must be very fun at parties,” He says then, and Draco gets him a chance to tell him a mild thing about himself.

“I’ve never been to a party,” He says then, it’s not much of a secret, but he doesn’t know exactly the criteria of secrets, so he pictures it as something he hasn’t told anyone about, and that is, in fact, one of those. 

“As you should, because you’re not going to be fun at them,” Potter says then, and he still holds his Buzz Lightyear like he actually has feelings, so kindly and careful. And as minutes pass by, Draco feels like this Harry Potter is very unfamiliar, that he saw a different picture years ago. And he asks himself if Potter also thinks that way, or if he’s just too good hearted and too much of a savior to treat Draco unkindly, he’s afraid that he hadn’t changed at all at times. 

“What is this?” Draco asks then, pointing at the yellow thing inside the red package and Potter frowns.

“French fries?” He says, sounding dumbfounded because Draco asked such a question, and Draco picks one up, and takes a closer look. They don’t seem depressing like that sandwich, but they kinda don’t look like food. Or at least not like the food he’s used to, “It’s just fried potato, Malfoy,” He says while rolling his eyes, so Draco stops analyzing it and takes a bite. It tastes good and salty, they don’t make Draco want to eat more, but they’re god as a snack, he supposes. 

“It’s not as bad,” Draco says then, after he swallows it, “But I find it so primitive to eat things with my hands, do you know how many bacteria we have on our hands?” He says then, and Potter still looks at him with an annoyed face. 

“It’s not primitive, it’s reckless!” Potter says and Draco frowns, “I know about the bacteria, but I’m brave,” He says then exaggerated tone, and Draco once again rolls his eyes, but playfully. If school times didn’t feel that far away, he would say that’s very Gryffindor of him, but Draco grew enough to not label people into only four categories for the rest of their lives. However, he still would fit into Slytherin if he got sorted again, but for different reasons. 

“Is it really french? Never saw those in France,” Draco says then, picking another one, he stares a little at it before eating it. It’s indeed a good snack.

“I have no clue actually,” Potter says simply and he picks one of his too, shoving it inside his mouth, Potter has very bad eating manners, but he saw people act worse and not everyone got etiquette lessons, “You’ve been to France?” Potter asks simply and takes another fry. 

“Yes, I spent a good time there,” Draco answers effortlessly, it’s good Potter asked about that, only his mom knows about his journey, and Draco feels an urge to tell Potter every detail, so he could see Draco as someone he would like. He hates that one thing will never change about that dynamic, and it is that Draco wants Potter’s approval.

“How was it?” Potter engages into the subject, and as much as he looks comfortable and unbothered, there’s curiosity on his tone. Maybe Harry hasn’t traveled too much, which seems weird to Draco since he must have money and time. 

“It was fine, I suppose,” Draco says, and he wants to keep it simple, but he doesn’t because he feels like he has to tell Potter everything, “I didn’t like Paris, because it’s too romantic, Vienne was lovely and I like how ruins make me feel less afraid of the past,” He takes a little uncomfortable breath, because he has to reveal so much, and that’s not something he’s used to, “Mâcon was too small for me, but I liked the river,” He said then, and he looked at Potter to see if there’s anything in his eyes that tell Draco to stop talking, or any kind of rejection, but Potter is just looking at him, invested and silent, “Bourg-en-Bresse had churches and religion it brought me bad memories from the war,” When the war was mentioned, Draco realized Potter’s body tensing, “I’m sorry,”

Potter blinked twice before opening his mouth, “For what?” And well, there’s many answers for that.

“I own you a lot of apologies,” Draco starts and Potter frowns, “I don’t think Mcdonalds is the place to talk about them though, I was apologizing for mentioning the war,” He says and Potter nods then, and his glasses move a little forward, in which Potter quickly adjusts, Draco almost looks away after. He never hated being into men so much like today, because he cannot deny that Potter is attractive. And his body also can’t deny it, because it reacts to Potter’s actions.

“It’s fine, I guess, It’s been a long time since it ended,” 7 years to be exact, Draco thinks, 7 long years living a life he didn’t deserve to have, 7 years that were given to him with mercy, a mercy he should've gotten. And at times he wishes he could go back in time and die on the warfront, and exchange his life with someone who deserved to live, “It’s just weird to talk about it, especially with you,” He says and Draco stares at him, and keeps silent, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, I just thought I would never see you again,” 

“Both meanings would be fair, Potter,” Draco says then, and he grabs a fry to look at it, just so he won’t face Potter’s gaze, “I do not expect you to like me,” But Draco does, and it’s not much of a expectation, he wants Potter to like him, he wants Potter to see him differently from what he used to see, because he regrets his past self more than anything. 

“I don’t expect you to like me either,” Potter says, which is fair, and actually Draco would love to dislike Potter, to hate his guts, but he doesn’t, which is way to unusual and new for such a lost mind to comprehend, “But we can agree that our past is behind us, right?” Potter hesitantly asks, and Draco wants to lie and say it’s not, because he’s afraid of proximity, but also unable to forgive himself, and if there’s proximity it’s not deserved. But Draco is too old to deny, and too cursed to hide it. 

“We can,” Draco says carefully, because he’s divided by two perspectives, and he was always divided, the difference now is that he can choose his own. Draco is way too used to people choosing for him, and he’s not found enough yet to make them for himself. 

“Aren’t you trying your drink? I think it will blow your mind,” Potter says switching subjects, and it’s amazing that he does, because they have an awkward dynamic even though they’re two different people now. Doesn’t matter how both of them changed though, not now, because even though everything about the way Potter acts is different, he still has the familiar face that used to bring deep hatred. And probably Potter sees it like that too. 

“I highly doubt,” Draco says and then grabs the paper cup on his hands, he peeks inside through the piece of plastic that covers the tip, it’s a black brownish liquid, that kinda looks like coffee and black tea, but Draco knows it’s a cold drink, it’s filled with ice cubes.

As much as he hates to admit, Potter was right. He never drank something like that weird thing, the closest to its texture is potions, it has gas in it because Draco feels it burning his throat slightly, and it’s so incredibly sweet with a bitterish punch to it. He takes long sips of it and Potter stares at him, pleased.

“What is this?” Draco says surprised and Potter looks even more pleased with Draco’s tone, and he doesn’t care that he’s losing, that thing tastes good, and it’s utterly weird.

“I knew you would fall for something muggle!” Potter says, with a tone that seems so proud that it’s pathetic, Draco likes it, “This is Coke, is fucking good isn’t it?” He says, still proud of himself, and Draco just nods.

“It does taste unhealthy though,” Draco says then, but keeps sipping his Coke, because he can’t get enough of the sweetness, and it pleases him because Draco has a sweet tooth. 

“And it is, this piece of heaven slowly melts your bones,” Potter says and Draco is surprised, he said that to sound bitter, but he was right, “But we have potions to solve that, poor muggles being unhealthy because of such an amazing thing,” He says, and Draco grins, he holds back a smile. And he wonders if someday all the smiles he holds back will become secrets too, and he will have to tell Potter that he wants to smile when Potter says or does mundane things. 

“I feel bad for them, it probably sucks to not have potions,” Draco says then, just to keep the conversation, and Potter nods while he sips his own coke, and there it is, the adam’s apple, he wants Potter to use only turtlenecks from now on so Draco can live without staring at his adam’s apple. 

“They invented pills for those things, but they don’t have magical stuff in it,” Potter says and then takes another sip, and Draco looks down to ignore the adam’s apple, “Muggles have their potions, but it’s called Chemistry, and that name scares me, I would probably suck at Chemistry,” Potter says and Draco grins again.

“I can see that happening,” Draco says with a teasing tone and Harry grins, and it’s weird how even the bickering is friendly, so Draco gets some thoughts, some thoughts that might become secrets, so he sighs, because he has to say it, “Why are you nice to me?” Draco asks and Potter almost chokes on his drink, taken by surprise. And damn, good way of making things awkward, Draco thinks to himself.

“Because you didn’t give me any reason to be mean,” And Draco frowns at him.

“Well, but I did before didn’t I?” Draco says, quite sharply, quite hesitant. And Potter’s face is a puzzle, because Draco can’t seem to find pieces, to relate it to an emotion, which is rather difficult to deal with. Not that Draco isn’t good at reading emotions, he’s very skilled at that, but just like himself, Potter doesn’t seem like the type that shows them.

“Yes, you were a pain in my arse,” Potter says simply, and Draco still frowns knowing that this isn’t the only thing Draco was, it’s an understatement to treat him only as someone who used to bother Potter, he did more than just that, “And then we were in different sides, which honestly, I don’t have anything to say about,” 

“I thought you did,” Draco says, and pulls a fry, putting on his mouth, and chewing it slowly, after he swallows it, he frowns at Potter again, “My side wanted you dead,” He lets out and Potter shakes his shoulders.

“Did you though? The only things I remember you doing was trying to save my life actually,” Potter is right, Draco wanted The Dark Lord to win, he hated them, he hated every single person on his house, creeping around, commiting cruel things, but his only escapatory was if The Dark Lord won. But he couldn’t get himself to do the things they expected from him, he hated Potter too, but he couldn’t die. Not because of him.

“Fair,” Is the only thing Draco says for a while, and he keeps eating his fries, which are a little more soften now, probably because they’ve been sitting for some minutes over that table, “I still have the mark though,” Draco says in a whisper, but McDonalds is empty, and silent, of course Potter hears it.

“I know that, but it’s been 7 years already,” Potter says and he sounds so incredibly mature it’s utterly annoying, because Draco wants him to slander him, he wants Potter to tell him that he’s bad and he doesn’t deserve to be there. Because that is what Draco believes, he strongly believes he didn’t deserve to survive, or to be free. 

“You changed, Potter,” Draco says then, and Potter frowns, and then grins, and then he nods. His face is still difficult to read, but his eyes are always sad, always down, and Draco wants to know why, but he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t even consider asking. That talk is not something he should have with Draco.

“You changed too, Malfoy,” Potter says, it goes out softly, and even though that just got out of Potter’s mouth, and even though he should believe it, Draco still can’t help but think, that might be a quick response to what he said. Did Draco change? He knows he did, but towards people, did he?, “You’re even eating McDonalds,” He says right after, and Draco grins.

“My old self would die if he knew I was eating muggle fast food,” Draco says then, and feels weird saying out loud that he has this past self, it seems like his old persona died on the warfront. Like he still thinks he should’ve. 

“With Harry Potter,” Potter adds, and Draco fights a smile, it’s so incredibly weird to him, the thought of smiling. He doesn’t remember the last time he did, or the last time he laughed, he remembers though every single time he cried. 

“Madness! Me and the, great, great, savior of the universe,” Draco says then, with an enthusiastic tone and Potter makes that noise again. It's weird, how it sounds like a laugh, but it's not. Maybe Potter also holds back smiles and laughter, but once again, Draco doesn’t see any reasons why he would.

“I know right! Me the great, great, savior and Draco Malfoy, the blondest ex dickhead in the world,” Potter says with that same enthusiastically sarcastic tone, and once Draco rolls his eyes.

“Thank you for adding ex on it, very glad!” Draco says sarcastically and Potter smiles at him, and then takes another sip of his drink, Draco does his best to ignore the adam's apple moving up and down, “You’re still a dickhead though, I’ve been redeemed, you? Not so much,” Draco says and Potter fakes a gasp. 

“I can’t believe this! Very dickhead of you, Draco Malfoy,” He says in a tone so offended and so sarcastic it’s almost impossible to Draco to hold back positive reactions, he bites the inside of his cheek, “You just lost the privilege of being a redeemed dickhead, you’re being renamed as the blondest dickhead in the world,” Potter says, and while his tone is supposed to express anger, the side of his lips are curled up. 

“Oh no, great savior,” Draco says in a tone like he’s acting on some kind of play, dramatic and redundant, “What can I do to not be considered a dickhead? I can’t take this savior,” He even pretends he’s crying, brushing his finger on the side of his eyes.

“Just finish your Big Mac, dickhead,” Potter says playfully, and Draco sees a small spark inside Potter’s eyes, which seem like the reflection of light on his lenses, and that should be it, just a reflection.

“I rather have you calling me the blondest dickhead in the world until the day I die than to finish this,” Draco says in a tone that right now is serious, because there’s enough depressive things in his life, so he rather not eat things that are depressive too. 

“Ok, blondest dickhead in the world, let’s head out to the cinema,” Potter says and gets up, as soon as he finishes his sentence, and Draco feels like an obedient child, getting up right after he did, “Did you enjoy yourself?” Potter asks then with that “Up to something” grin. 

“Quite the opposite,” Draco says then and looks down at that depressive and messy sandwich, “I hope I never have to do this again,” He says, and Potter smiles, “Forever,” 

“Maybe, but I’m your teacher, I think I should teach you the whole menu,” He says once again with that up to something tone and Draco sighs loudly, “It’s for the knowledge, Malfoy, you never know when you might have to use a McDonalds menu,” Draco only rolls his eyes at Potter, and that means “Fuck you”, but also means “I’m so annoyed that you’re funny”

“I know you must hold grudges, but I preefer pshysical torture,” Draco says like it’s nothing, and Potter looks a little lost for a while, and the tip of his nose gets red, and he adjusts his already on place glasses. Draco doesn’t get it in the beginning but when he does, his whole body gets weak from embarrassment and he cleans his throat, “Tell me more about movies,” He says then in panic, and Potter adjusts himself on his seat and nods. Both are lucky for being talented on changing topics.

“It wasn’t so crazy to me, because I grew up watching them,” Potter says, and then he adjusts himself again, like something is bothering him, and Draco doesn’t know what it is, “I mean… I used to see it playing on the TV but I never had like the experience of going to watch one,” Potter sounds a little off, like he’s lost inside his mind, Draco doesn’t know why, but he understands, because he’s always lost inside his thoughts, “Going to the cinema for the first time was cool,” 

“What is a TV?” Draco asks then, frowning and Potter mouths a “Oh”, probably realizing that Draco doesn’t know anything about muggle stuff. 

“I’ll show you one, but it’s like a box? That shows moving pictures,” Potter tries to explain, and he gesticulates again, and just like before Draco doesn’t understand shit of what he’s saying. So he keeps frowning.

“Is it muggle? Seems like magic,” Draco says and Potter agrees with his head.

“It’s electricity actually, some smart muggle discovered it, and honestly I don’t know why the wizarding world doesn’t use it,” He says and Draco looks at him wondering how electricity works. He must see it, because his teacher is not the best at his work, but once again, he doesn’t actually want to know about Muggles. And he knows that’s a secret too, but that one is for later, he has many to tell. 

“Electricity… Interesting,” Draco says then, his frowning never leaving his face because he’s literally lost. And it’s kind of fun actually, not knowing something for once, Draco was always too filled with knowledge and self awareness. And at times he rather not have them, to live a life where he doesn’t understand things, so he can live without dealing with them. It’s a thin line between ignorance being a gift and a curse. When knowing everything is a strength and when it’s a weakness? All lines are blurred, and life is blurred too, on Draco’s perspective. 

“For your amusement, Malfoy, we’re leaving McDonalds for now,” Potter says, before packing up both of their stuff, after he does he gets up but stays still briefly just to talk to Draco again, “But I might inform you, Cinemas are always filled with people,” Potter says and then, with one eyebrow up, “Very muggle people,” Draco sighs, he’s used to muggles, from his trips, he was barely in contact with magical folk, but he was also never in a closed space. 

Potter knows his ways inside that McDonalds like he owns it, which is depressing, because that place is depressing. Not that it doesn’t fit Draco, maybe he should’ve spent his years inside a McDonalds instead of giving himself beautiful memories he doesn’t feel like he deserves. And maybe he’s getting that fate if Potter actually makes him taste the bland and depressing menu. 

They leave, and Potter paid for both their orders before the food even arrived as he recalls. And Draco feels slightly uncomfortable because Potter paid, first of all, because he’s doing those classes as basically charity, from the good of his hero heart, or the bordedom of his life, or because he hates himself, Draco doesn’t know which. Second, Draco has to pay that charity some way, no, he doesnt have muggle money, but he could manage to get them, so at least he does something that will pay off. 

They side along again, and they arrive at a very weird and shady place, and Draco is confused for a while, dislocated, and slightly afraid they’re in some abandoned place and that Harry Potter will murder him after making him eat that terrible sandwich and those not french at all fries. But at least from the goodness of Potter’s heart he showed Draco coke before his fate of death is finally completed, a little mercy, he supposed. But Harry just unwraps their arms and walks, and Draco takes a few seconds and then follows him, they walk on that hallway, and then, Harry opens a door, and they’re inside a huge place. He’s not going to die. 

“I always apareate on the employee's bathroom hallway, no one ever catches me,” Potter says simply, and Draco is glad he explained. And yes they leave that hallway unnoticed. 

It’s a huge open space, there’s stairs behind him, very big ones, they’re facing huge doors and some people are going inside, talking to each other and Draco just stares at them. Rather normal. Harry walks again and Draco follows him, a step behind. They go up those stairs, and Draco feels like his bones are a little rusty, a little tired when he arrives at the top. 

There's six types of lines, separated by strings of red thin fabric, there're some people sitting on the red sofas around on both sides, also talking, holding some paper packages filled with something and holding cups familiar to those on McDonalds but fairly less obnoxious. There’s a bunch of people on the back behind a glass, behind them there’s some kind of machine, actually a bunch of them, with something that Draco thinks is food inside. It looks like tiny clouds from afar. And as they walk closer to it, it looks more like it, and there’s a mild smell to that place, a good mixture of something very sweet and something very salty, which is pleasing at best. Draco just follows Harry around, and as they’re standing at one of the lines. Draco notices the walls, there’s picture frames, with small rounds of light all over, and the pictures have people and some other stuff on it, one has a lot of cars, and Draco hopes that’s not the movie they’re there to see. Even though he’s not sure what a movie is, still.

“Romance, comedy or cars?” Potter says then, looking at him, and Draco moves his head to face the boy with glasses in front of him, and Draco lets out a small noise, thinking about it.

“All of them seem very not my thing,” He says, and then he remembers he has to tell Potter his secrets, so he sighs right after it, “I’m lying… Romance,” He says and Potter does a funny face to him, “Shut up,”

“I didn’t say anything!” He protests, and he doesn’t have to, his face screams surprise, amusement, and of course, he looks like he’s about to laugh until his ribs go hard and he doesn’t know how to breath, “Fair choice, though, you would hate the other ones with a burning passion,” Potter says and Draco nods, and he finds it kind of weird after it, because Potter seems to really know all things Draco would like or not, did he ever paid attention to Draco? Or is Draco transparent? He’s not sure, maybe it’s neither. 

When their time arrives, a lady that seems very nice in some way, with beautiful brown hair, which is the only thing Draco really notices, smiles at them, “Good afternoon, Gentleman,” She says in a friendly way, with a heavy accent Draco guesses is from Manchester. 

“Good afternoon!” Potter says, as friendly as she does, and Draco knows that he’s polite now, in which he never got the chance to realize. And a feeling grows quietly inside him, because maybe the way Potter treats him is mere politeness, pretending, just like he does with that stranger. But then again, it’s better that way isn’t it? If Potter just pretends, because there’s two things he can’t take. His friendliness, the pure one, not the one pretended. And actually getting close to Potter, which he will try to avoid, and if Potter is just being polite, he will too. Maybe they’re just business, as they should be, Draco thinks. So he buried that thought quickly, and Potter had already said the name of the movie, and he missed it. 

“Good choice! Very romantic,” The lady says, and Draco pays attention to the exchange finally, and while some papers are leaving a small black box, in which Draco supposedly holds the tickets. It takes some seconds and then they’re on her hands, and she slides them from an opening on the bottom of the glass she’s behind, Harry takes them.

“Thank you,” He says politely and friendly again, and Draco tries to behave, to make his brain behave. It doesn’t fail completely, but he still has this weird thing on his stomach, a mild bad feeling. Draco puts his hand on his pocket and holds into his Obsidian very tightly. 

“Have a good movie and a good date!” She says, and Draco’s feet who were about to move freeze on the spot. His whole body flushes with his face, a deep discomfort dancing around with embarrassment, his jaw drops a little but he closes his mouth. Harry lets out a giggle under his breath, and Draco faces him, to find him as flushed as Draco might be. Potter avoids his gaze and just walks around the side of the line and Draco follows him.

This was madness, people really think him and Harry Potter are on a date. That from all the people in the world Potter would take to a date it would be him? Draco Malfoy? A bloke? Draco was dumbfounded. Then he remembered they don’t know who they’re, but it’s still the weirdest thing to picture, him and Potter going to dates like two pubescent teenagers, him and Potter together. Those are things he never picture, and rather never do again, and there’s a weight over his shoulders while he follows Potter around to end up on another line. Do they look like a couple? Is Draco too comfortable in the way he stands? Is something about him screaming to everyone that he’s gay? His head doesn’t behave. Not at all. Draco tries to walk more straight, keep a face more angry, more reserved, more professional, so the people around him don’t think he and Potter are on a date. Madness. 

Draco is immersed into thoughts and then he’s taken out of it roughly by hearing Potter’s voice, “Malfoy?” And Draco quickly faces him, recomposing himself and standing straight again, “I want to tell you about the things you can choose to eat before we arrive there, I don’t think you would want to choose it blindly,” Potter says and Draco mouths an “Oh”

“Good,” Draco says, and then clears his throat, he tries to not seem uncomfortable, but he is so uncomfortable it hurts, and his bones are tired still, something is up with his body, “Torture me with my options,” Draco says, dramatically but playfully and he regrets it, he doesn’t want to seem comfortable around Potter. They’re not on some date, this is a leisure, business, and saving life situation. 

“Ok, so popcorn, do you like it sweet or salty?” Potter asks, and Draco frowns, “You haven’t had popcorn? For real?” Potter asks dumbfounded and Draco just shakes his shoulders agreeing, trying to look normal but also not on a date, “Blind taste, sweet or salty? Quick,” Potter says.

“Sweet,” Draco says quietly, he has had a sweet tooth ever since he was a child. 

“You like chocolate?” Potter asks, and Draco rolls his eyes at him. 

“Of course I do, Potter, only a monster doesn’t,” Draco says and Potter nods, and he thinks that maybe Potter might seem like that, someone so hideous that doesn’t even like chocolate. But that’s such a dumb thought, so he reajusts his posture for the 10th time.

“For drinks I guess you’ll like coke again,” Potter assumes, and once again, he assumes correctly, Draco wants to correct thing on assumptions he does, even the slightest, but Potter is always right. Which is annoying. But there’s nothing he can do other than nod. 

When it’s their turn, Harry orders for them again and Draco stares at the employee accepting the order with a closed face, trying to look as unapproachable as he could, so people don’t think he’s enjoying himself on a muggle date with Harry Potter. Of course he’s not, people are mad, completely mad for ever thinking that, wondering even. The boy which Draco finds quite attractive goes to the back and opens the glass with the clouds inside, which Draco knows are popcorn now. And he scoops it with a type of big spoon and puts it inside one of those paper packages. 

“Quite unhygienic,” Draco whispers to himself but Potter hears it so Draco watches while the boy rolls his eyes, but his face is not angry, and why? Draco is a pain in the ass. Potter should be annoyed shouldn’t he? Is Potter that good at acting? Maybe he’s just so used to his role as the hero that he doesn’t know how to act otherwise, but Draco knows, and he wants to be sure, that inside Potter is annoyed. 

The boy fills another one, but that popcorn is sticky with some caramel Draco assumes, that must be the sweet popcorn he chose. Then the boy fills cups with coke, and grabs two long packages, one is yellow and the other is brown. He places everything in front of Potter, who looks back at Draco, “A little hand?” He asks and Draco awkwardly moves forward, grabbing his popcorn and the brown package and putting it in his pocket, and then grabs the drink. Head down not looking at the boy behind that counter, because he doesn’t want to see him and face the thoughts he might have of him and Potter being on a date. Potter pays and gets those things left.

They walk towards a big opening that has a boy too, and before they get there, Draco opens his mouth, and closes again and then sighs, he has to say things, “We should share the bills,” Draco says, formally, like a business transition. 

Potter looks at him, puts one eyebrow up, “Do you have muggle money?” He asks, wittiness, he hates that tone on Potter, even though it’s more fitting, based on their past.

“No,” Draco says and Potter looks at him like he’s dumb, “But I can get some, and I can pack you back with our currency,” He says, trying to sound even more formal, and Harry just looks at him like he’s doing something very weird.

“I’m not dying if you don’t pay me, I don’t need money,” Potter says and Draco frowns, intrigued, it’s fairly rare for people that don’t care about money, but once again Potter is some kind of giving hero.

“I want to pay too, we’re not on some kind of date,” Draco says like it’s the most obvious thing ever and he does it a little louder just so some people will hear, but no one seems to care about that, and Potter raises one eyebrow. 

“I know we’re not on a date, Malfoy,” Potter says then, and now there’s some kind of annoyance, “You really cared about what the girl said?” He asks then and Draco gulps, because he did and Potter sounds like that was something dumb of him to do, “She was trying to be nice,” Potter says more slowly, like he’s teaching a kid and Draco gets highly annoyed at that, “We know we are not a gay couple, Malfoy,” He says, casually, and Draco knows exactly the awkward thing to confess, because the topic is here, and they don’t have enough time to discuss it. 

“I’m gay, but yes, definitely not a couple,” Draco says and he tries to be casual about it, like he just told Harry the weather is nice and not that he’s gay, which is certainly a big thing, that he’s way too old to care about, unless people assume he’s on a date with Harry Potter. But of course Potter is shocked, of course he’s trying to hide his surprise but his eyes are slightly more big and he’s forcefully keeping his mouth closed, “You’re not my type, don’t worry,” Draco says then, and he’s not lying but not being truthful, because first, he doesn’t have a type since he didn’t have much time to think about a type, second because Potter is slightly attractive, not unpleasant to look at, and he doesn’t have a ugly neck. 

“I already knew that,” Potter says and then he cleans his throat, yes, Draco succeded on making the moment awkward, as he thought it would, “The type part, not the gay part, but good for you I guess,” Potter says, and it’s very neutral, his face is blank and as he already knows, Potter knows his ways out of those moments, so keeps walking like nothing happened. He gives the tickets to the man waiting and they follow a huge corridor with huge doors, and it goes down, and there’s only one door left, and it’s kind of dark. 

Draco went down a small inclination again, until he saw it, a huge, huge kind of stage it seemed, with a velvety red curtain over it and he couldn’t help but gasp a little, and Potter looked at him. And Draco didn’t stare straight at him, he saw by the corner of his eye that Potter was smiling, he could see the teeth on his side, but he ignored it, and went a little bit more down and then up a stair, and then he saw the accommodations, huge red sits just like the velvety curtain, and he has been to huge teathers before, but there’s a different vibe there, is cozier, it’s enormous but not as much. It felt enough.

Potter led them to the seats, middle seats, middle row, just perfectly in the middle, and Draco liked that placement, Potter made a good choice, and it was pleasing, weirdly pleasing. Potter then lowered two arm handles that had exact measurements of the things he was carrying, and he felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to carry them anymore, he adjusted them perfectly too. And he took a time making his popcorn secured, Potter was just staring at him.

“If I let it comfortably, I might make the floor dirty,” Draco says quietly, and Potter is still looking at him like he’s some kind of a animal on display, and Draco moves his head to the side, to glare at him, and his has a weird grin situation on his face, “What?” He said, sharply, and Harry was caught by surprise, probably not even realizing he was staring, which seems like a Potter thing to do. Even though he’s not sure if that is the same Potter he knew.

“Nothing, It’s just… You’re so out of your habitat, but you still act like a 20 century prince,” Potter says then and Harry frowns.

“My habitat? Am I an animal?” He points out, still glaring and Harry lets out that small laughing noise of him, which is very typical, he realized, it seems to be his core reaction to almost everything Draco does. He doesn’t know if it’s good, or bad. If Draco is funny or he’s making fun of Draco in some way. 

“I mean, you were a ferret once,” Potter says and his neck gets red, it’s funny, because it seems like he’s holding up a huge laughter, but then it’s infuriating because he brought that up, “Very white… And cute, inside a boy’s pants,” And when he says that he lets out a noise different from the other ones, that one is the one you make when you’re holding a huge laughter indeed. And at that moment the line was clear, Potter was making fun of him.

“My first gay experience,” Draco says, in a tone both overly dramatic and also disgusted, and then it comes. Laughter. Potter’s laughter was soft, in a bad way because he looked like he was dying, and his whole face got red like a tomato. And Draco makes his lips into a straight line, to hold back a laughter inside, “Please, never laugh close to me again, you sound like a dying animal,” Draco said which caused more laughter, and Potter placed his popcorn down, sloppy. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me,” Draco says then and Potter goes to the side, still sounding like a very injured squeaking animal, and It was infuriating because it was contagious. Draco rolls his eyes before catching the popcorn and adjusting it right to fit the space thighly, “I’m already paying for my lessons, being your babysitter, first you talk about Buzz Lightyear, then a laugh attack and now this sloopy placement… Did you know it was molded after the actual package?” Draco says then, like he’s teaching a moron, and Potter is a moron, that laughs like a dying animal and that stares at him when he’s staring at things. 

“Yes, Malfoy,” Potter says, seemed to have controlled his outbursts of laughter, and the way Muggles seemed not to notice them at all was weird. Draco was used to carrying his image on his back like a huge and heavy baggage, that is physically glued to him. Probably Potter did too, but in a more pleasing way, people don’t attempt to murder him as often it seems, or maybe they do, but Draco relizes he knows so little about Potter’s life after the wall, other than he’s an absolute moron who’s too nice it’s almost frightening, “I just don’t care,” 

And that makes Draco even more infuriated, “Potter, if you drop anything on the floor, any popcorn or plastic, and whatever material those are,” He points at the popcorn and the cup of coke, “And you don’t pick it up or vanishes it, I will hex you,” Draco says then, like a parent scolding his child, and Potter is actually surprised of that approachment, not scared, not even the slightest, which is even more and more infuriating, just deeply surprised.

“You threatened me,” He says in shock, and Draco is staring at him like he’s some type of idiot, in which Draco is sure he is, “Finally, my god, I was frightened by the fact that you haven’t threatened me once since we got together, not even when I made you eat McDonalds,”

“You want to be threatened by me?” Draco says, dumbfounded, probably because he found someone dumb with a hair that makes him look way younger than he should, which is bad, for reasons Draco rather ignore. Potter denies with his head, the tip of his nose slightly red, and Draco doesn't want to know whatever went through his mind. 

“No, I mean, being threatened is not nice, but you were too nice,” Potter says and Draco rolls his eyes, really? What did he expect? 14 year old Draco on his doorstep? He was ten years older, and ten years of not very great moments with himself.

“You have a degradation thing?” Draco said, and it wasn’t supposed to sound the way it must have, because the nose area got even more red, and fuck, Draco was sounding dirty without realizing again, so he cleanse his throat once more, to kill that vibe, “Do you know why I care so much about Muggle garbage and waste?” Draco said in a very serious tone, which took Potter by surprise once again.

“Actually, I can’t find a reason you would,” Fair, Draco says, years ago he wasn’t even aware of that aspect, and that was the Draco, Potter knew wasn’t it? The Draco that was too immersed inside his own fantasy world and the colliding of it, to care about something other than himself.

“You know, this plastic right here,” Draco grabs the package of the chocolate thing with his hand, and Potter nods, actually seeming curious to know what Draco is going to say, which is weird, because the only person that did that was his mom, and he wasn’t exactly comfortable with Potter being the other one, “This is mass produced! And your waste, might end up in the ocean, and do you know how many creatures die inside their own home, because of this shit?” Draco swears, because there’s fewer things in the world that make him actually and deeply mad, and pollution was one of them.

“No,” Potter says and his tone is low, and now he seems more scared, maybe scared not being the world, maybe bad about himself, as he should.

“Because of plastic, and plastic only, 100,000 marine mammals die from the pollution,” Draco says and then he lets out a gasp, because he’s actually annoyed, very annoyed, more than Potter being nice, and more than that sandwich before, Draco loved good food, but he loved the sea more, “Mammals, Potter, whales die from plastic,” Draco says and he exaggerates it, because it needs to be exaggerated. It’s important. The sea was his home too, even though he failed to become one with it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry… Whales? I feel bad,” Potter says then and Draco glares at him, still with a burning passion inside him. He cares more about the sea than he does about himself, or anything other than his mother, the only things Draco would die trying to protect would be those two things, “How do you know that?” Potter asks then, still surprised but he talks it softly, and then he looks deadly inside Harry’s eyes, and finds out that he seems to care, because his face looks sad, and he stares at Draco like he’s sorry. It’s weird, but it’s not to him, about the sea.

“I was infuriated, Potter,” Draco says and he feels it all over again, “And sad,” He completes it, “When I got to the sea, a place that I adored, it was all dirty, and I did my studies, to see how I could help,” He says, “I can’t let them ruin something so beautiful, I can’t,” Draco says and Potter nods, very quickly. 

“Did you do it?” Potter asks then, faintly, Draco doesn’t quite get the toning of his words, he doesn’t know what to relate those to, because people don’t sound like that when he talks. And he rarely talked. 

“Help?” Draco asked, and Potter nodded, paying close attention, they were still standing there, and Potter wasn’t even bothering to sit down again, he wanted to listen, and why was it so weird that he did? “Yes, I spent months and months traveling around the european coastline, trying to clean it, and it was frustrating, because nothing I could do would help for a long time, but I like to thing I saved some of those creatures lives,” And Draco remembers, illuminating the sea and watching the creatures underneath him, fishing to see which fish he liked best, healing the small fracture on their mouth before giving it back to their home, Draco was never into animals, not as much as other kids were, but the real Draco, had those creatures as his only friends, only lost fishes in a pond and free fishes surviving on a huge river made Draco feel understood.

“I’m sure you did, Malfoy,” Potter says and it’s soft and cheerful, and it’s great to hear, complicated to understand and odd to deal with, but Draco liked it, because it made him feel a little better, just a little, “You know, muggles care about those too… Just more rarely,” Potter says and Draco just looks at him, watching his mouth move while tender sounds are on his ears, “You can donate money to institutions that help cleaning the sea,” Potter says and Draco makes a little pout, that means he thinks that’s interesting.

“Help me do that later then,” He says and Potter nods, grinning, and then he sits down, and Draco decides to follow his lead, sitting down. And it was almost like they knew it was time, because a few moments later, the curtain moved, and Draco was surprised.

He thought maybe it was a stage, because it looked like it was a stage, but the curtain was completely out of the way and the only thing behind it was a big black wall, even though he never saw a wall with that texture. He was still staring at it trying to understand what it was, and he flinched when that wall lighted up, as the lights around him started to fade out. He hears Potter casting a silencio charm.

“So we can talk about the movie without bothering people around us,” He says right after and Draco nods, face still looking forward, eyes locked on the screen, and then it starts moving, images moving, and then there’s another image moving with another name wrote on it, and if keeps changing to other phrases and names, with images with it, “Those are the logos, movies always start with those,” Potter notes, Draco nods.

“It’s very bright it hurts my eye,” Draco complains, but that doesn’t make him less interested in the screen, because he will get used to it, or maybe get a headache. 

“It’s because your eyes are blue, they’re more sensible,” Potter says, softly, almost in a whisper, even though no one can hear him because of the spell. 

“They’re grey,” Draco says, and remembers his wonders about which color they were. Some days he thought his eyes were very blue, and others it seemed almost white, and it seemed to get more white as he grew more empty. One day every part of his complexion would be grey, and faded, it seems.

“Under this light it’s light blue,” Potter says then, and Draco looks at him, has Potter paid attention to the color of his eyes? Is he paying attention to it now as he looks at him? Draco doesn’t know. 

“Yours are green, but under this light nonexistent, your glasses are covering,” He said as he watched the glasses reflecting the light, reflecting himself, it’s weird, everytime he looks at Potter’s glasses it seems like the day he watched that Ochiul Beilubi and saw himself, looking back. Draco looks back at the screen, and there’s a man in there, laying on his bed. 

“Wait, how?” Draco whispered, and Potter giggles, very small, and Draco is focused on the man waking up, and getting up, walking around. That was odd.

“Magic,” Potter whispers back and Draco rolls his eyes. It’s weird because he doesn’t understand what is happening in front of his eyes, he’s watching another person, an actor obviously, but he never thought it was a way to make this. 

He gets more used to it, and the man in the “movie” gets into a train. Draco likes how it’s captured, like it seems like real life, like you’re seeing someone’s memories from 3rd person, but it’s on a screen in front of you, with people watching it too. Theaters are different, Draco watched plays, there’s pauses, you can still know it’s all an act. Movies are different, everything is happening, in a real place, for someone to sit and watch. Draco wants to understand how does that work, and maybe electricity is way more complex than a dumb muggle creation.

Draco doesn’t like that girl, he likes the idea of her having blue hair, but she’s a little invasive, a little too extroverted, a bit obnoxious it seems. And the man, which Draco found very unattractive for instance, is not as cool too, he thinks interesting things, but doesn’t act like he has those thoughts. He acts a bit like Potter at times, way too nice, way to humble. It’s weird to watch someone’s life. Draco got an idea from that beginning though, he wants to go to the beach in the middle winter, while snow covers the sand, when the sky is white. 

Draco gets confused right after that, it seems like that movie has a weird timeline, from future to past it goes. It seems like the plot is basically, a girl, with colors on her hair, and this guy, were together at some point, and muggles invented machines to do “Obliviate” which is a must be a very cool and interesting concept to muggles actually, since they don’t have a wand to erase memories. Draco thinks about a life that someone obliviated him, a life without knowing the things he does, where his memories are all gone and not haunting him, a life when he doesn’t understand why people look at him with anger. A life without a growing grey on his eyes, a place where his sadness is gone, fozilized, forgot, buried under a stand ship.

He thinks that a life without his memories is a life when he’s not himself. A life that would be as empty as the one he has. What is the price of memories? If they’re painful, haunting, but teach you something. Who would he be? Without everything that happened to him? How would be a life when the stars haven’t fallen, that he never tried to drown? That he never got marked? What is a life without the weight of himself? But then without the weight, who is he? If he’s not Draco Malfoy, the death eater who regrets it, who is he? Draco doesn’t know himself enough to forget. 

The man regrets it, and Draco feels for him. He doesn’t like either of those people, and maybe that’s the point isn’t it? Not knowing them, just trying to relate to what they feel, isn't that how everyone should be? Maybe if people tried to sympathize with a very compressed play of who you are, maybe that way, maybe that way people wouldn’t hate Draco so much. He almost cries when the man begs to go back when he’s on the lake, a frozen lake. That hits, in a way he never thought it would. If Draco accepted to erase his memories and had to see it all, would he try to fight it too? Is there a reason to fight?

Maybe his mom is a reason, maybe her eyes, the wrinkles on her face when she smiled at him when he arrived. Maybe the rivers and the fishes, he wouldn’t like to forget them. Maybe the sea and those creatures living inside of it, his days around as it grew reckless and at days, got quiet. Maybe the stars and the nebulas, the constellations, the Aurora Borealis, Draco wants to keep those too. The danube, the lake, the dragons. Maybe even the curse. Draco understands that character, and maybe it’s better to keep the pain? He doesn’t know. 

That movie makes him want to know what is a joint, drive a car because it seems crazy, that movies makes him want to read Nietzsche, that movie makes him want to fall in love, and to fall out of love, that movies makes him want to see the winter sea, that movies makes him think about the past, and what it is to have it. He likes them, he likes the love, and he hates it too. It’s a lot of feelings, to see someone try, to see someone forget, to see someone love and run. Muggles created something he likes, movies, and that movie.

It seems like every time he sees the world crashing around, he’s inside that world he sees. Because once his world crashed and burned, and the memories stayed, memories that he doesn’t know if he wants to keep or remove. When the house is falling down, and they say goodbye, Draco cries. A small tear drops, and then another one. Emptiness. He remembers why he stopped reading romance, it hurts. Because Draco sees something he doesn’t want to have but something he craves, and something he hates, but feels like his life would never be complete without. Fucking movie, he thinks while his tears are falling more.

It’s a good ending Draco thinks, it’s hopeful. But it makes him cry again, because hopeful things make him sad, because he wants to start again too, he tried to start again, but faith made him go back to what seems to be the start. He’s sitting right beside Harry Potter, he’s back in London, everything changed. But everyone is the same. Draco bites his lip to stop crying when the credits roll. And he remembers that Potter is right beside him, and he was so immersed he forgot he’s being watched as he watched that movie. An eternal sunshine of a spotless mind. Fucking movie. 

People get up and Draco gets up too, he didn’t eat his popcorn, drank his coke or ate his chocolate. Potter is staring at him, and he’s frightened because he doesn’t know for how long he’s staring, maybe he saw everything, and he definitely realized everything. Draco feels embarrassed, ashamed, Porter saw him cry, because of a movie, because he’s empty, lost and doesn’t have anyone to love. He’s a dumbass, an idiot, he can’t believe himself. So Draco starts walking, he bumps into people that honestly don’t care much if he does. 

When he arrives at the place with the lines and the couches, he realizes he doesn’t know exactly where he is, and he wants to aparate back home but it would be even worse for him, fucking hell. Merlin, Draco hates himself. So he sits down on the sofa in front of him, and waits for Potter to appear. He cleans his eyes and keeps a straight pose and an annoyed face, because he is annoyed, but he wants to make a sad face because he’s sad. Draco adds to a mental list “next time choose comedy, it will be bad but you’re not going to cry” and he hates himself so much.

He hates himself more when Potter appears, struggling to hold Draco’s food, and Draco looks at him and then looks forward again, while people gather around on the lines, he hopes they’re not seeing eternal sunshine of a spotless mind, because he sure regrets it.

Draco’s body freezes when Potter sits right beside him, close enough to be completely noticeable, far enough for them not to touch each other. And they stay there, both looking forward in silence, for a while. 

“It’s a good movie,” Potter says awkwardly, trying to break the ice, but Draco’s mind is running with terrible images of Potter seeing him crying to a muggle movie, he hates himself, his choices. If he watched a comedy, maybe he would eat his popcorn and judge all jokes, not think about his loneliness, his human needs of romantic love and how lost and empty he is, “I cried too, stop acting weird,” Potter says then, and Draco instantly turns his head to the side, to face Potter, that holds all those stuff. His face is neutral. That’s good.

“I didn’t cry,” Draco tries and of course it doesn’t work, because of course Potter saw it, so he sighs, “Did you, though?” He asks then, feeling extremely defeated, and of course he is, because that movie made him deeply sad, and then deeply embarrassed and then, even more embarrassed. 

“Of course I did!” Potter says like it’s the most common thing in the world, and maybe it is, but in Draco’s world it’s not, he doesn’t cry in front of people, and never because of a dumb movie, “It’s fucking sad, I’m not judging you… Actually, I’m glad you ran away, you would never know I cried if I didn’t tell you,” And Draco almost wants to laugh, but of course he doesn’t. 

“But you told me,” Draco says then, it sounds way to playful, so he bites the inside of his mouth, and he wants to make fun of Potter for crying, because it would make him feel better, “I only cried because it was so bad it made me sad,” Draco says dramatically, and Potter lets out a small noise.

“I’ll pretend I believe you, so you can feel better about yourself,” Potter says and Draco could punch him right now, he’s close enough to punch without a lot of effort. 

“Fuck you,” Draco says instead of punching him, and Potter grins, “You’re very merciful, thank you so much for your mercy,” Draco says sarcastically, and Potter rolls his eyes. 

“As much as I love to hear about how much of a merciful amazing person I am,” Potter says then, “I rather make you eat your stuff, because I don’t want to hold them anymore and I won’t waste food,” He says and Draco grins, and then tries to make his face neutral again, and he fails. So he grabs the popcorn from Potter’s arms and puts it on his lap.

“Am I supposed to eat it with my hands?” Draco asks and Potter looks at him funny, “What? It’s disgusting, not hygienic and primitive,” He complains loudly, he hasn’t even washed his hands since he left his home. Potter only rolls his eyes.

“Live life to its fullest, Draco,” Potter says then dramatically, “If god gives you popcorn, eat with your damn hands,” He says and Draco rolls his eyes. He looks down at the popcorn, it looks tasty but so incredibly sticky, and Draco whines. 

He makes a small claw with two of his fingers, and then reaches down, and only with the tip of them, he grabs a popcorn that seems very caramelized. He looks at it, weird shaped thing, he notices before putting it in his mouth and chewing. It’s actually pretty good.

“What is this?” Draco asks then, and uses his careful claw to pick another one and put it on his mouth, because it’s good and Draco was hungry, that McDonalds made him more hungry than full filled. 

“The name is quite revealing, it’s popped corn,” Potter says and Draco opens his mouth in surprise, and then fills the open mouth with another popcorn. He grabs the coke too, and takes a sip, it’s not as good as the McDonalds one, probably because it’s a little bit warmer, but Draco likes it still, “So, be honest, did you like the movie?” And Draco almost wants to say, “I have to be honest because I’m cursed” But he doesn’t, he just nods.

“It was weird at the beginning, and I hated both characters for a long period of if, but it’s interesting,” Draco says, “It’s very muggle also, because we have obliviate, if it was a wizard movie it would be very quick,” Potter laughs at that. 

“It would,” Potter says, “I guess that’s the funnest part of the movies, is that we could solve it very quickly,” He says and sits more comfortably, “Sometimes being a wizard takes out the fun of living, don’t you think?” He sounds more thoughtful which is something weird, because Harry Potter doesn’t seem the type to think philosophic. 

“I think differently, I think we figured out how to erase the unfun things of life,” Draco says then, and now he takes a very risky step, which is getting a handful of popcorn, as much as he hates the idea of eating with his hands, the claw thing is quite tiring, “We have a spell to almost everything, and potions, which makes us capable of doing almost anything,” Draco says.

“Hm,” Potter lets out, “But like, isn’t the fun of life doing things for yourself? Like, earning? I don’t know much about life,” He admits with a small uncomfortable laugh. Draco looks at him, Potter is looking forward, he notices the lines of his face again, and how his feet don’t quite touch the ground, so he swings them around, like a child.

“I guess it is, I’m still waiting for something to earn,” Draco says, and then stops looking at Potter, because it seems like his profile is much more attractive, and that is not something he should be thinking about, “I don’t know much about life either,” 

“You seem like you do,” Potter says then, and Draco raises his eyebrows in surprise, and looks at Potter again, who is still looking forward and swinging his feet on the air. 

“Do I?” Draco asks, and now Potter looks at him, a piece of his hair falls over his eye, because his head is slightly bent to the side. Potter looks inside his eyes, and Draco looks at the faded light of Potter’s eye, in which he’s still not sure if it’s just the reflection, or if it is the thing Draco recognizes. 

“Yes, you always seemed like you knew more than me,” Potter says, and they’re looking at each other greyish eyes fixated on green. Draco never thought he would see Harry Potter again, never thought he would talk to him, smile at him, or simply, stare inside his eyes and wonder if he’s sad or not. 

“Depends, I was much smarter than you,” Draco says and then bites his lip, “No offence,”

“Non taken,” Potter says, letting out a small noise out of his nose. 

“But it’s an overstatement to think I knew something about life,” Draco says and he crosses his legs right after it, trying to find some comfort in his position, to maybe speak things more straightforwardly, “I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t ready to have a life, or to deal with the consequences, I thought life was easy, and I was wrong,” Is that considered a secret? Draco asks himself, it is indeed exposition, but he’s not sure if that is a secret or not.

“I never thought life was easy, but I was completely clueless,” Potter says then, and he swings his feet a little more quickly now, which is both annoying and adorable, “I’m still pretty clueless, maybe it’s my charm,” Potter jokes and Draco grins, and fills his mouth with popcorn.

“Most definitely a charm, there’s nothing more sexy than knowing you’re smarter than someone,” Draco jokes and Potter turns his head around and glares at him, but once again, his lips fail to pass an emotion, they’re still curled up. 

“I like the way you’re very passionate about keeping the blondest dickhead in the world title,” Potter says, and Draco grins. It’s almost revolting to Draco the way they’re normal around each other, and every time Draco wonders if it’s genuine or not. And he almost feels pathetic from being so normal, because maybe Potter is just a hero, and Draco is that side quest that the hero does based on pity.

“I’m glad you realized, I’m doing my best,” Draco says and Potter smiles at him, teeth white and aligned, eyes still not joining the party. Maybe that’s the clue Potter is not actually enjoying, the way his eyes are curled down when his lips are curled up. 

“The blondest dickhead in the world who likes romance movies,” Potter says after a while, and Draco stares at him, of course he wouldn’t let that slip, Draco glares at Potter which seems to awake something inside him, “Draco Malfoy, the romantic dickhead,” He adds and Draco glares even more his eyes almost closing, which Potter seems to enjoy, “Draco Malfoy, the hopeless romantic dickhead,” He says then and Draco closes his eyes forcefully.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco says, and it goes out way too playfully, “I’m not romantic, I haven’t even dated anyone,” He lets out without realising, “The romance novels are more complex and… What?” Draco says when he catches Potter looking at him with a surprised gaze. 

“You never dated?” Potter asks and Draco frowns, he thought that wasn’t a surprise to anyone, he never went out with anyone, “I thought the girls were super into your annoying ass,” 

“Maybe they were, but I never cared about girls, Potter,” He says, like it’s obvious and Potter mouths an “Oh” and stares at him like an idiot. In which he might be. 

“The gay part, I forgot,” Potter says and Draco almost wants to laugh at the way he says “The gay part”, Draco learned that day that Potter is very giggly, way too polite, that he’s clueless about life, doesn’t know how to make tea and that he might be a certified dumbass. And Draco hates that he enjoys all those things, he thought that seeing Potter would be terrible, but other than uncomfortable subjects, it wasn’t. 

“Yes, the gay part,” Draco repeats that dumb sentencs, and Potter just looks at him, with no bad expression, no grudges being hold, just normal. Weirdly normal, why is he normal? Draco asks himself. He’s familiar, like his mirror, years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was it! 
> 
> next chapter is already on my head, so i’ll not take very long to update it. 
> 
> sorry about any typos once again.
> 
> i hope it was enjoyable.
> 
> with love, rainy!

**Author's Note:**

> This was a long journey, congrats and welcoming to my ending notes, I have some things to say. I think this was the best way to introduce Draco’s character, and it’s something I’ve not done before, its a different kind of story telling, we live with him all the things he thought back then, and follow his pathing until the point our plot actually starts. 
> 
> Draco contradicted himself and doubted himself a lot, and maybe that might seem a little weird or even repetitive, but that’s how his brain works. Because Draco struggles a lot on his way, and he’s trying to find himself, connect the pieces. 
> 
> I would like to thank Jana, for giving me a sketch idea that I could transform on a big piece. Without your first idea this would’ve not been a thing, and I’m so thankful for your help also.
> 
> I want to thank Elodie for poem advice, because I’m fairly inexperienced with poetry, and the help was very important to build this. 
> 
> And then, thank you for reading it, I was excited to share this with everyone, and I hope you guys liked it. Please if you please, share a comment with your feedback, thoughts, parts you liked or disliked, I’m all ears.
> 
> I made this a playlist to write that is more diverse because I have the whole fic thought out, and there’s songs there that will make you feel later on. It’s also collaborative so you can add the songs that might remind you of this fic.  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1yAn0Mha5RmvM5xcuHPssX?si=ckswoHzZQqSVFCs-S-BqWA
> 
> See you soon!
> 
> Love, Rainy.


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